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RO  M  O  L A 

BY 

GEORGE  ELIOT 

An  Historically  Illustrated  Edition 

Edited,  with  Introduction  and  Notes,  by 

DR.  GUIDO    BIAGI 

Librarian  of  the  Laurentian  Library,  Florence 

With  One  Hundred  and  Sixty  Engravings  of  Scenes  and 
Characters,  selected  by  the  Editor 

In  Two  Volumes  —  Volume  Two 


CHICAGO 
A.   C.   McCLURG    &    CO. 

1906 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McClubg  &  Co. 

1906 

Published  October  13,  1906 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


A  /  ^••^•/..&o. 

/f^6         CONTENTS 

BOOK  II  (continuetl) 

Chapter  Page 

XII.    A  Revelation 1 

XIII.  Baldassarre  Makes  an  Acquaintance  .  15 

XIV.  No  Place  for  Repentance 26 

XV.    What  Florence  was  Thinking  of     .     ,  42 

XVI.   Ariadne  Discrowns  herself      ....  47 

XVII.    The  Tabernacle  Unlocked Gl 

XVIII.   The  Black  Marks  become  Magical       .  67 

XIX.    A  Supper  in  the  Rucellai  Gardens      .  76 

XX.   An  Arresting  Voice 98 

XXI.   Coming  Back 109 

BOOK  ni 

XXII.   RoMOLA  IN  her  Place 113 

XXIII.  The  Unseen  Madonna 123 

XXIV.  The  Visible  Madonna 132 

XXV.   At  the  Barber's  Shop 140 

XXVI.    By  A  Street.  Lamp 152 

XXVn.   Check 163 

XXVIII.   Counter-check 168 

XXIX.   The  Pyramid  of  Vanities 176 

XXX.   Tessa  Abroad  and  at  Home     ....  184 

XXXT.   Monna  Brigida's  Conversion     .     .     .     .  108 

XXXII.    A  Prophetess 205 


vi  CONTENTS 

Chaptkr  Page 

XXXIII.  On  San  Miniato 214 

XXXIV.  The  Evkning  and  the  Morning    .     .     .  221 
XXXV.    Waiting 226 

XXXVI.    The  Other  Wife 231 

XXXVII.    Why  Tito  was  Safe 246 

XXXVIII.   A  Final  Understanding 254 

XXXIX.   Pleading 261 

XL.   The  Scaffold 273 

XLI.   Drifting  away 282 

XLn.   The  Benediction 288 

XLIII.   Ripening  Schemes 295 

XLIV.   The  Prophet  in  his  Cell 310 

XLV.   The  Trial  by  Fire 321 

XLVI.   A  Masque  of  the  Furies 831 

XLVII.   Waiting  by  the  River 337 

XLVIII.   Romola's  Waking 346 

XLIX.   Homeward 358 

L.    Meeting  again 363 

LI.   The  Confession 370 

LII.    The  Last  Silence 379 

Epilogue 384 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Volume  II 

Page 

The  entry  of  Charles  VIII  in  Florence.  From  the  paint- 
ing by  G.  Bezzuoli  in  the  Modern  Art  Gallery    Frontispiece 

The  procession  on  Corpus  Christi  Day  at  the  beginning 
of  the  eighteenth  centuiy.  From  the  engraving  by 
G.  Zocchi 6 

The  door  of  the  Chapter  House  in  the  outer  cloister  of 

the  Convent  of  St.  Mark 10 

Portrait  of  Fra  Girolamo  Savonarola l6 

The  front  of  the  Duomo.    From  one  of  the  missals  of  the 

Duomo  preserved  in  the  Laurentian  Libraiy     ...       20 

A  view  of  the  Duomo.  From  Firenze  illustrala,  by  F.  L. 
del  Migliore^  one  of  the  books  studied  by  G.  Eliot  in 
the  Magliabechian  Library 26 

Portrait  bust  of  Marsilio  Ficino.  From  the  contem- 
porary bust  in  the  Duomo  by  Andrea  Ferrucci      .     .       32 

Savonarola    preaching    in    the    Duomo.      From   an    old 

manuscript S6 

Portrait  of  Piero  de'  Medici,  the  son  of  Lorenzo  il 
Magnifico.  From  the  portrait  by  Botticelli  in  the 
Ufizi  Gallery 40 

Portrait   of  Bernardo   Dovizi.     From  the   painting  by 

Raphael  in  the  Pitti  Gallery 46 

The  Ponte  a  Rubaconte.      From  an  old  engraving     .     .        52 

A  view  of  the  Ponte  a  Rubaconte  and  of  the  hill  over 
the  river  at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
From  the  engraving  by  Giuseppe  Zocchi     ....       b6 


viii  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 
Tlic  faun  by  Michelangelo^  now  in   the   Bargello    .     .       60 

The  Medici  Palace  in  the  Via  Larga.  From  an  engrav- 
ing in  Firenze  illustrala,  by  F.  L.  del  Migliore,  one 
of  the  books  studied  by  G.  Eliot  in  the  Maglia- 
bechian  Library 66 

The  entry  of  Charles  VIII  into  Florence,  with  a  view 
of  the  Medici  Palace.  From  a  painting  by  Fran- 
cesco Granacci  (1477-1543)  in  the  Crespi  Collec- 
tion in  Milan 70 

Portrait  bust  of  Charles  VIII  of  France.  From  a  con- 
temporary bronze  bust  in  the  Bargello 76 

Portrait  of  Charles  VIII  of  France.  From  the  drawing 
by  Cristoforo  dell'  Altissimo  (1554-1605)  in  the 
Ufizi  Gallery 82 

Savonarola  preaching.    From  a  marble  statue  by  Enrico 

Pazzi  in  Palazzo  Vecchio 86 

Portrait   of   Ludovico   Sforza.       From   the  woodcut  in 

Antonio  Campo,  Isloria  di  Cremona 92 

The  Via  dell'  Oriuolo,  with  the  door  of  the  Pazzi  Garden. 

From  a  drawing  by  E.  Burci  in  the  Ufizi  Gallery.     .       d6 

Portrait  bust  of  Girolamo  Benivieni.  From  his  death- 
mask  in  the  Musee  du  Louvre        102 

The    fresco    by    Fra    Bartolommeo   in   the    Chapel   of 

Savonarola 108 

Portrait  of  Pier  Capponi.  From  a  contemporary  por- 
trait preserved  by  the  family 112 

The  Adoring  Angels,  by  Fra  Filippo  Lippi.     Part  of  a 

fresco  in  the  Ancient  Gallery,  Florence 118 

The  Adoring  Angels,  by  Fra  Filippo   Lippi.     Another 

part  of  the  fresco 122 

The  Piazza  de'  Signori,  with  the  platform  for  the  Priors, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century.  From 
the  drawing  by  Giuseppe  Zocchi  in  the  Ufizi  Gallery     128 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  ix 

Paob 

A  view  of  Florence  from  San  Niccol6.  From  the  en- 
graving by  Giuseppe  Zocchi 132 

A  pinzochera,  or  a  sister,  belonging  to  the  Order  of 

St.  Francis 136 

A  view  of  Fiesole  and  the  hills  outside  Porta  a  San 
Gallo.  From  the  drawing  by  Bartolommeo  Rustici, 
fifteenth   centuiy        140 

The  palace  built  for  Bernardo  Rucellai  by  Leon  Battista 

Alberti 144 

The  Rucellai  Loggia,  by  Leon  Battista  Alberti,  where 
the  splendid  wedding  of  Bernardo  Rucellai  and 
Nannina  de'    Medici  took   place 148 

The  marble  faqade  of  Santa  Maria  Novella,  by  Leon 

Battista  Alberti 1 52 

The  Holy  Sepulchre,  by  Leon  Battista  Alberti,  in  the 

Rucellai  Chapel 158 

The  Holy  Sepulchre.     Another  view l62 

Portrait  of  Pico  della  Mirandola.  From  the  contempo- 
rary portrait  in  the  Ufizi  Gallery l66 

An  alley  in  the  Rucellai  Gardens 170 

A  grotto  in  the  Rucellai  Gardens 174 

A  grotto  in  the  Rucellai  Gardens 178 

A  grotto  in  the  Rucellai  Gardens 182 

Pisa  in   the   fifteenth   century,    a    contemporary  view. 

From  a  drawing  in  the  Ufizi  Gallery 1S6 

The  shrine  of  the  Madonna  dell'  Impnmeta,  by  Michelozzi 

and  L.  della  Robbia 192 

The  Church  of  the  Impruneta.  From  the  drawing  by 
Remigio  Cantagallina  (sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries)  in  the  Ufizi  Gallery 196 

The  piazza  of  the  Impruneta.  From  the  drawing  by 
lacopo  Callot  (seventeenth  century)  in  tlie  Ufizi 
Gallery 200 


X  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 
The  fair  of  the  ^Impruneta.     From  the  famous  drawing 

by  lacopo  Callot  in  the  Ufizi  Gallery 204 

The  procession  of  the  Madonna  del/'  Imprunela  in  1711. 
From  the  engraving  in  Casotti,  Memoiie  dell'  Im- 
magine  di  Maria  Fergine  dell'  Imprunela,  Firenze,  1714     208 

The  Church  of  Santo  Stefano  del  Ponte      .     .     .     .     .  212 

A  Benedictine  Monk 218 

A  Monk  of  the  Frati  Minori,  or  Franciscans     ....  224 

An  Augustinian  Monk 228 

A  CarmeHte  Monk 234 

A    Monk   of  the   Servites,   or   Servants  of  the   Divine 

Mother 240 

A  Dominican  Monk 244 

The  bronze  medal  of  Savonarola,  with  the  sword  of  God 
as  its  obverse,  by  Fra  Luca  or  Fra  Ambrogio  della 
Robbia.      P'rom  the  original  in  the  Bargello     .      .      .      250 

The  Palace  Spini  at  Santa  TrinitA.  From  the  fresco  by 
Domenico  Ghirlandaio  in  the  Church  of  Santa 
Trinita 256 

The  Palazzo  Spini  as  it  is  now 260 

One  of  the  streets  in  the  heart  of  the  city.      From  the 

drawing  by  Burci  in  the  Ufizi  Gallery 266 

In  the  Church  of  the  Badia 272 

In  the  Church  of  the  Badia,  on  the  step  of  the  altar, 
in  front  of  Filippino  Lippi's  Virgin  appearing  to 
St.  Bernard 278 

On  San  Miniato.     From  the  drawing  by  E.  Burci  in  the 

Ufizi  Gallery 282 

The  outer  cloister  of  San  Marco 288 

The  inner  cloister  of  San  Marco 294 

Savonarola's  cell  in  San  Marco 300 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS  xi 

Page 
The  Treatise  against  the  Astrologers  by  Savonarola       .     .     304 

The  refectory  of  San  Marco 310 

The  court  of  the  Bargello  before  its  restoration    .     .     .     3l6 

The  cell  of  the  prophet  in  San  Marco 322 

An  autograph  by  Savonarola  in  a  book  of  the  Monastery 
of  San  Marco.  From  the  original  in  the  Laurentian 
Library 326 

The    Bible    of    Savonarola    with    his    marginal    notes. 

From  the  original  in  the  Riccardiana  Library  .     .     .     332 

The  rosebush   of    Savonarola  in   the   inner  cloister  of 

San  Marco 338 

An  autograph  by  Fra  Domenico  Bonvicini  da  Pescia, 
the  coadjutor  of  Savonarola.  From  the  original  in 
the  Laurentian  Library 344 

The  walls  of  Florence  near   San   Miniato.      From  the 

drawing  by  E.  Burci  in  the  Ufizi  Gallery       ....     350 

The  confession  of  Savonarola.     From  a   contemporary 

MS.  in  the  archives  of  Florence 356 

The  prison  of  Savonarola  in  the  tower  of  Palazzo  Vecchio     362 

Portrait  of  Pope  Alexander  VI    (Borgia).       From  the 

fresco    by   Pinturicchio 368 

The  martyrdom  of  Savonarola.     From  a  contemporary 

picture  in  the  Corsini  Gallery 372 

The  martyrdom  of  Savonarola.      From  a  drawing  in  the 

Ufizi  Gallery 378 

Portrait  of  Savonarola.  From  a  contemporary  miniature 
in  a  MS.  of  the  Rinuccini  Collection,  now  in  the 
Magliabechian  Library 384 


ROMOLA 

BOOK    II    {continued) 
CHAPTER  Xn 

A    REVELATION 

THE  next  day  Romola^  like  every  other  Elorentiue, 
was  excited  about  the  departure  of  the  French. 
Besides  her  other  reasons  for  gladness,  she  had  a  dim 
hope,  which  she  was  conscious  was  lialf  superstitious,  that 
those  new  anxieties  about  Tito,  having  come  with  the  burden- 
some guests,  might  perhaps  vanish  with  them.  The  French 
had  been  in  Florence  hardly  eleven  days,  but  in  that  space 
she  had  felt  more  acute  unhappiness  than  she  had  known  in 
her  life  before.  Tito  had  adopted  the  hateful  armour  on  the 
day  of  their  arrival ;  and  though  she  could  frame  no  distinct 
notion  why  their  departure  should  remove  the  cause  of  his 
fear,  —  though,  when  she  thought  of  that  cause,  the  image  of 
the  prisoner  grasping  him,  as  she  had  seen  it  in  Piero^s  sketch, 
urged  itself  before  her  and  excluded  every  other,  —  still, 
when  the  French  were  gone,  she  would  be  rid  of  something 
that  was  strongly  associated  with  her  pain. 

Wrapped  in  her  mantle,  she  waited  under  the  loggia  at  the 
top  of  the  house,  and  watched  for  the  glimpses  of  the  troops 
and  the  royal  retinue  passing  the  bridges  on  their  way  to  the 
Porta  San  Piero,  that  looks  towards  Siena  and  Rome.  She 
even  returned  to  her  station  wdien  the  gates  had  been  closed, 
that  she  might  feel  herself  vibrating  with  the  great  peal  of  the 
bells.     It  was  dusk  then  ;  and  when  at  last  she  descended 

into  the  library,  she  lit  her  lamp  with  the  resolution  that  she 
VOL.  n.  —  1 


2  ROMOLA 

would  overcome  the  agitation  which  had  made  her  idle  all 
day,  and  sit  down  to  work  at  her  copying  of  the  catalogue. 
Tito  had  left  home  early  in  the  morning,  and  she  did  not  ex- 
j)ect  him  yet.  Before  he  came  she  intended  to  leave  the  li- 
brary, and  sit  in  the  pretty  saloon,  with  the  dancing  nymphs 
and  the  birds.  She  had  done  so  every  evening  since  he  had 
objected  to  the  library  as  chill  and  gloomy. 

To  her  great  surprise,  she  had  not  been  at  work  long 
before  Tito  entered.  Her  first  thought  was,  how  cheerless 
he  would  feel  in  the  wide  darkness  of  this  great  room,  with 
one  little  oil-lamp  burning  at  the  further  end,  and  the  fire 
nearly  out.     She  almost  ran  towards  him. 

"  Tito,  dearest,  I  did  not  know  you  would  come  so  soon,'' 
she  said  nervously,  puttmg  up  her  white  arms  to  unwind  his 
becchetto. 

"  I  am  not  welcome,  then,"  he  said,  with  one  of  his 
brightest  smiles,  clasping  her,  but  playfully  holding  his  head 
back  from  her. 

"  Tito  ! "  She  uttered  the  word  in  a  tone  of  pretty, 
loving  reproach ;  and  then  he  kissed  her  fondly,  stroked  her 
hair,  as  his  manner  was,  and  seemed  not  to  mind  about  taking 
off  his  mantle  yet.  Eomola  quivered  with  delight.  All  the 
emotions  of  the  day  had  been  preparing  in  her  a  keener  sensi- 
tiveness to  the  return  of  this  habitual  manner.  "It  will 
come  back,"  she  was  saying  to  herself ;  "  the  old  happiness 
will  perhaps  come  back.     He  is  like  himself  again." 

l^to  was  taking  great  pains  to  be  like  himself;  his  heart 
was  palpitating  with  anxiety. 

"  If  I  had  expected  you  so  soon,"  said  Eomola,  as  she 
at  last  helped  him  to  take  off  his  wrappings,  "  I  would  have 
h:i(l  a  little  festival  prepared  to  this^  joyful  ringing  of  the 
bc^lls.  I  did  not  mean  to  be  here  in  tlie  library  when  you 
came  home." 


A    REVELATION  3 

"Never  mind,  sweet/'  he  said  carelessly.  "Do  not 
think  about  the  fire.     Come,  —  come  and  sit  down." 

There  was  a  low  stool  against  Tito's  chair,  and  that 
was  Romola's  habitual  seat  when  they  were  talking  to- 
gether. She  rested  her  arm  on  his  knee,  as  she  used  to  do 
on  her  father's,  and  looked  up  at  him  while  he  spoke.  He 
had  never  yet  noticed  the  presence  of  the  portrait,  and  she 
had  not  mentioned  it,  —  thinking  of  it  all  the  more. 

"  I  have  been  enjoying  the  clang  of  the  bells  for  the  first 
time,  Tito,"  she  began.  "  I  like  being  shaken  and  deafened 
by  them  :  I  fancied  I  was  something  like  a  Bacchante  pos- 
sessed by  a  divine  rage.  Are  not  the  people  looking  very 
joyful  to-night  ? '' 

"  Joyful  after  a  sour  and  pious  fashion,''  said  Tito,  with 
a  shrug.  "  But  in  truth,  those  who  are  left  behind  in  Flor- 
ence have  little  cause  to  be  joyful :  it  seems  to  me,  the  most 
reasonable  ground  of  gladness  would  be  to  have  got  out  of 
Florence." 

Tito  had  sounded  the  desired  key-note  without  any 
trouble,  or  appearance  of  premeditation.  He  spoke  with  no 
em])hasis,  but  he  looked  grave  enough  to  make  Romola  ask 
rather  anxiously,  — 

"  Why,  Tito  ?     Are  there  fresh  troubles  ?  " 

"  No  need  of  fresh  ones,  my  Eomola.  There  are  three 
strong  parties  in  the  city,  all  ready  to  fly  at  each  other's 
throats.  And  if  the  Frate's  party  is  strong  enough  to 
frighten  the  other  two  into  silence,  as  seems  most  likely,  life 
will  be  as  pleasant  and  amusing  as  a  funeral.  They  have  the 
plan  of  a  Great  Council  simmering  already ;  and  if  they 
get  it,  the  man  who  sings  sacred  Lands  tlie  loudest  will  be 
the  most  eligible  for  of&ce.  And  besides  that,  the  city  will 
be  so  drained  by  the  payment  of  this  great  subsidy  to  the 
French  king,  and  by   the  war  to  get  back  Pisa,  that  the 


4  ROMOLA 

])rospect  would  be  dismal  enough  without  the  rule  of  fanatics. 
On  the  whole,  Florence  will  be  a  delightful  place  for  those 
worthies  who  entertain  themselves  in  the  evening  by  going  into 
crjpts  and  lashing  themselves;  but  for  everything  else,  the 
exiles  have  the  best  of  it.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  been 
thinking  seriously  that  we  should  be  wise  to  quit  Florence, 
my  Eomola/' 

She  started.  "Tito,  how  could  we  leave  Florence? 
Surely  you  do  not  think  I  could  leave  it  —  at  least,  not  yet 
—  not  for  a  long  while.^'  She  had  turned  cold  and  trem- 
bling, and  did  not  find  it  quite  easy  to  speak.  Tito  must 
know  the  reasons  she  had  in  her  mind. 

"  That  is  all  a  fabric  of  your  own  imagination,  my  sweet 
one.  Your  secluded  life  has  made  you  lay  such  false  stress 
on  a  few  things.  You  know  I  used  to  tell  you,  before  we 
were  married,  that  I  wished  we  were  somewhere  else  than  in 
Florence.  If  you  had  seen  more  places  and  more  people, 
you  would  know  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  Florentines  that  reminds  me  of  their  cutting 
spring  winds.  I  like  people  who  take  life  less  eagerly;  and 
it  would  be  good  for  my  Pcomola,  too,  to  see  a  new  life. 
I  should  like  to  dip  her  a  little  in  the  soft  waters  of 
forgetfulness.''' 

He  leaned  forward  and  kissed  her  brow,  and  laid  his 
hand  on  her  fair  hair  again;  but  she  felt  his  caress  no  more 
than  if  he  had  kissed  a  mask.  She  was  too  much  agitated 
by  the  sense  of  the  distance  between  their  minds  to  be 
conscious  that  his  lips  touched  her. 

"Tito,  it  is  not  because  I  suppose  Florence  is  the 
plcasantest  place  in  the  world  that  I  desire  not  to  quit  it.  It 
is  because  I  —  because  we  have  to  see  my  father's  wish  ful- 
filled. My  godfather  is  old,  —  he  is  seventy-one  ;  we  could 
not  leave  it  to  him." 


A   REVELATION  5 

''It  is  precisely  tliose  superstitions  which  hang  about 
your  mind  like  bedimming  clouds,  my  Romola,  that  make  one 
great  reason  why  I  could  wish  we  were  two  hundred  leagues 
from  Florence.  I  am  obliged  to  take  care  of  you  in  opposi- 
tion to  your  own  will :  if  those  dear  eyes,  that  look  so  tender, 
see  falsely,  I  must  see  for  them,  and  save  my  wife  from  wasting 
her  life  in  disappointing  herself  by  impracticable  dreams/^ 

Eomola  sat  silent  and  motionless :  she  could  not  blind 
herself  to  the  direction  in  which  Tito's  words  pointed :  he 
wanted  to  persuade  her  that  they  might  get  the  library 
deposited  in  some  monastery,  or  take  some  other  ready  means 
to  rid  themselves  of  a  task,  and  of  a  tie  to  Elorejice;  and  she 
was  determined  never  to  submit  her  mind  to  his  judgment  on 
this  question  of  duty  to  her  father;  she  was  inwardly  pre- 
pared to  encounter  any  sort  of  pain  in  resistance.  But  the 
determination  was  kept  latent  in  these  first  moments  by  (he 
heart-crushing  sense  that  now  at  last  she  and  Tito  must  be 
confessedly  divided  in  their  wishes.  He  was  glad  of  her  si- 
lence; for,  much  as  he  had  feared  the  strength  of  her  feeling, 
it  was  impossible  for  him,  shut  up  in  the  narrowness  that 
hedges  in  all  merely  clever,  unimpassioned  men,  not  to  over- 
estimate the  persuasiveness  of  his  own  arguments.  His  con- 
duct did  not  look  ugly  to  himself,  and  his  imagination  did  not 
suffice  to  show  him  exactly  how  it  would  look  to  Romola. 
He  went  on  in  the  same  gentle,  remonstrating  tone. 

"You  know,  dearest,  —  your  own  clear  judgment  al- 
ways showed  you,  —  that  the  notion  of  isolating  a  collection 
of  books  and  antiquities,  and  attaching  a  single  name  to 
them  forever,  was  one  that  had  no  valid,  substantial  good 
for  its  object :  and  yet  more,  one  that  was  liable  to  be 
defeated  in  a  thousand  ways.  See  what  has  become  of  the 
Medici  collections  !  And,  for  my  part,  I  consider  it  even 
blameworthy  to  entertain  those  petty  views  of  appropriation  : 


6  ROMOLA 

why  sliould  any  one  be  reasonably  glad  that  Florence  should 
possess  the  benefits  of  learned  research  and  taste  more  than 
any  other  city  ?  I  understand  your  feeling  about  the  wishes 
of  the  dead  ;  but  wisdom  puts  a  limit  to  these  sentiments, 
else  lives  might  be  continually  wasted  in  that  sort  of  futile 
devotion, —  like  praising  deaf  gods  forever.  You  gave  your 
life  to  your  father  while  he  lived;  why  should  you  demand 
more  of  yourself  ?  " 

"  Because  it  was  a  trust/^  said  Romola,  in  a  low  but 
distinct  voice.  "  He  trusted  me,  he  trusted  you,  Tito.  I 
did  not  expect  you  to  feel  anything  else  about  it,  —  to  feel 
as  I  do, —  but  I  did  expect  you  to  feel  that." 

"  Yes,  dearest,  of  course  I  should  feel  it  on  a  point 
where  your  father^s  real  welfare  or  happiness  was  concerned; 
,  but  there  is  no  question  of  that  now.  If  we  believed  in  pur- 
gatory, I  should  be  as  anxious  as  you  to  have  masses  said ; 
and  if  I  believed  it  could  now  pain  your  father  to  see  his 
library  preserved  and  used  in  a  rather  different  way  from  what 
he  had  set  liis  mind  on,  I  should  share  the  strictness  of  your 
views.  But  a  little  philosophy  should  teach  us  to  rid  our- 
selves of  those  air-woven  fetters  that  mortals  hang  round 
themselves,  spending  their  lives  in  misery  under  the  mere 
imagination  of  weight.  Your  mind,  which  seizes  ideas  so 
readily,  my  Romola,  is  able  to  discriminate  between  substan- 
tial good  and  these  brain-wrought  fantasies.  Ask  yourself, 
dearest,  what  possible  good  can  these  books  and  antiquities 
do,  stowed  together  under  your  father's  name  in  Florence, 
more  than  they  would  do  if  they  were  divided  or  carried  else- 
where? Nay,  is  not  the  very  dispersion  of  such  things  in 
hands  that  know  how  to  value  them,  one  means  of  extending 
their  usefulness  ?  This  rivalry  of  Italian  cities  is  very  petty 
and  illiberal.  The  loss  of  Constantinople  was  the  gain  of 
tlie  whole  civilized  world." 


an 


,1 

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^ 

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o 

^ 

X 

V3 

7q 

5' 

■"^ 

0 

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n 

s 

O 

« 

o 
1 

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•a 

n* 

^ 

V  o 


«-"i*e-,^ 


A   REVELATION  7 

Eomola  was  still  too  thoroughly  under  the  painful  pres- 
sure of  the  new  revelation  Tito  was  making  of  himself  for  her 
resistance  to  find  any  strong  vent.  As  that  fluent  talk  fell 
on  her  ears,  there  was  a  rising  contempt  within  her,  which 
only  made  her  more  conscious  of  her  bruised,  despairing  love, 
her  love  for  the  Tito  she  had  married  and  believed  in.  Her 
nature,  possessed  with  the  energies  of  strong  emotion,  re- 
coiled from  this  hopelessly  shallow  readiness  which  professed 
to  appropriate  the  widest  sympathies  and  had  no  pulse  for 
the  nearest.  She  still  spoke  like  one  who  was  restramed 
from  showing  all  she  felt.  She  had  only  drawn  away  her 
arm  from  his  knee,  and  sat  with  her  hands  clasped  before  her, 
cold  and  motionless  as  locked  waters. 

"  You  talk  of  substantial  good,  Tito  !  Are  faithfulness, 
and  love,  and  sweet  grateful  memories  no  good?  Is  it  no 
good  that  we  should  keep  our  silent  promises  on  which 
others  build  because  they  believe  in  our  love  and  truth  ?  Is 
it  no  good  that  a  just  life  should  be  justly  honoured?  Or,  is 
it  good  that  we  should  harden  our  hearts  against  all  the 
wants  and  hopes  of  those  who  have  depended  on  us  ?  What 
good  can  belong  to  men  who  have  such  souls  ?  To  talk 
cleverly,  perhaps,  and  find  soft  couches  for  themselves,  and 
live  and  die  with  their  base  selves  as  their  best  companions.'" 

Her  voice  had  gradually  risen  till  there  was  a  ring 
of  scorn  in  the  last  words.  She  made  a  slight  pause ;  but 
he  saw  there  were  other  words  quivering  on  her  lips,  and  he 
chose  to  let  them  come. 

"  I  know  of  no  good  for  cities  or  the  world  if  they  are 
to  be  made  up  of  such  beings.  But  I  am  not  thinking  of 
other  Italian  cities  and  the  whole  civilized  world,  —  I  am 
thinking  of  my  father,  and  of  my  love  and  sorrow  for  him, 
and  of  his  just  claims  on  us.  I  would  give  up  anything  else, 
Tito,  —  I  would  leave  Florence,  —  what  else  did  I  live  for 


8  ROMOLA 

l)ut  for  liiin  and  you?  But  I  Mill  not  give  up  that  duty. 
What  have  1  to  do  with  your  arguments?  It  was  a  yearuing 
of  I/is  heart,  and  therefore  it  is  a  yearning  of  mine/' 

Her  voice,  from  having  been  tremulous,  had  become 
full  and  firm.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  urged  on  to  say 
all  that  it  was  needful  for  her  to  say.  She  thought,  poor 
thing,  there  was  nothing  harder  to  come  than  this  struggle 
against  Tito's  suggestions  as  against  the  meaner  part  of 
herself. 

He  had  begun  to  see  clearly  that  he  could  not  persuade 
her  into  assent :  he  must  take  another  course,  and  show  her 
that  the  time  for  resistance  was  past.  That,  at  least,  would 
put  an  end  to  further  struggle ;  and  if  the  disclosure  were  not 
made  by  himself  to-night,  to-morrow  it  must  be  made  in 
another  way.  This  necessity  nerved  his  courage  ;  and  his 
experience  of  her  afFectionateness  and  unexpected  submis- 
siveness,  ever  since  their  marriage  until  now,  encouraged  him 
to  hope  that,  at  last,  she  would  accommodate  herself  to  what 
had  been  his  will. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  in  that  spirit  of  blind 
persistence,  my  Romola,''  he  said  quietly,  "  because  it  obliges 
me  to  give  you  pain.  But  I  partly  foresaw  your  opposition, 
and  as  a  prom])t  decision  was  necessary,  I  avoided  that  obsta- 
cle and  decided  without  consulting  you.  The  very  care  of  a 
husband  for  his  wife's  interest  compels  him  to  that  separate 
action  sometimes,  —  even  when  he  has  such  a  wife  as  you,  my 
Eomola." 

She  turned  her  eyes  on  him  in  breathless  inquiry. 

"\  mean,"  he  said,  answering  her  look,  "that  I  have 
arranged  for  tlie  transfer,  both  of  the  books  and  of  the  antitj- 
uities,  where  they  will  find  the  highest  use  and  value.  The 
books  have  been  bought  for  the  Duke  of  Milan,  the  marbles 
and  bronzes  and  the  rest  are  going  to  France ;  and  both  will 


A   REVELATION  9 

be  protected  by  tbe  stability  of  a  great  Power^  instead  of 
remaiuing  in  a  city  which  is  exposed  to  ruin/' 

Before  he  liad  finished  speaking,  PtomoUi  had  started 
from  her  seat,  and  stood  up  looking  down  at  him^  with  tight- 
ened hands  falling  before  her,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  with  a  flash  of  fierceness  in  her  scorn  and  anger. 

"  You  have  sold  them  ?  "  she  asked,  as  if  she  distrusted 
her  ears. 

"  I  have,"  said  Tito,  quailing  a  little.  The  scene  was 
unpleasant,  —  the  descending  scorn  already  scorched   him. 

"^  You  are  a  treacherous  man  !  "  she  said,  with  something 
grating  in  her  voice,  as  she  looked  down  at  him. 

She  was  silent  for  a  minute;  and  he  sat  still,  feeling 
that  ingenuity  was  powerless  just  now.  Suddenly  she  turned 
away,  and  said  in  an  agitated  tone  :  "  It  may  be  hindered,  — 
I  am  going  to  my  godfather." 

In  an  instant  Tito  started  up,  went  to  the  door,  locked 
it,  and  took  out  the  key.  It  was  time  for  all  the  masculine 
predominance  that  was  latent  in  him  to  show  itself.  But  he 
was  not  angry  ;  he  only  felt  that  the  moment  was  eminently 
unpleasant,  and  that  when  this  scene  was  at  an  end  he  should 
be  glad  to  keep  away  from  Romola  for  a  little  while.  But  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  first  that  she  should  be  reduced  to 
passiveness. 

"  Try  to  calm  yourself  a  little,  Romola,"  he  said,  leaning 
in  the  easiest  attitude  possible  against  a  pedestal  under  the 
bust  of  a  grim  old  Roman.  Not  that  he  was  inwardly  easy  : 
his  heart  palpitated  with  a  moral  dread,  against  which  no 
chain-armour  could  be  found.  He  had  locked  in  his  wife's 
anger  and  scorn,  but  he  had  been  obliged  to  lock  himself  in 
with  it;  and  his  blood  did  not  rise  with  contest, —  his  olive 
cheek  was  perceptibly  paled. 

Romola  had  paused  and  turned  her  eyes  on  him  as  she 


10  ROMOLA 

saw  him  take  his  stand  and  lodge  the  key  in  his  scarsclla. 
lier  eyes  were  flashing,  and  her  w^hole  frame  seemed  to  be 
possessed  by  impetuous  force  that  wanted  to  leap  out  in  some 
deed.  All  the  crushing  pain  of  disappointment  in  her  husband, 
wliich  had  made  the  strongest  part  of  her  consciousness  a  few 
minutes  before,  was  annihilated  by  the  vehemence  of  licr 
indignation.  She  could  not  care  in  this  moment  that  the  man 
she  was  despising  as  he  leaned  there  in  his  loathsome  beauty 
—  she  could  not  care  that  he  was  her  husband;  she  could 
only  feel  that  she  despised  him.  The  pride  and  fierceness  of 
the  old  Bardo  blood  had  been  thoroughly  awakened  in  her  for 
the  first  time. 

"  Try  at  least  to  understand  the  fact,"  said  Tito,  "  and 
do  not  seek  to  take  futile  steps  which  may  be  fatal.  It  is  of 
no  use  for  you  to  go  to  your  godfather.  Messer  Bernardo 
cannot  reverse  what  I  have  done.  Only  sit  down.  You  would 
hardly  wish,  if  you  were  quite  yourself,  to  make  known  to  any 
lliird  person  what  passes  between  us  in  private." 

Tito  knew  that  he  had  touched  the  right  fibre  there. 
But  she  did  not  sit  down ;  she  was  too  unconscious  of  her 
body  voluntarily  to  change  her  attitude. 

"  Why  can  it  not  be  reversed  ?  "  she  said  after  a  pause. 
"  Nothing  is  moved  yet." 

"  Simply  because  the  sale  has  been  concluded  by  written 
agreement ;  the  purchasers  have  left  Florence,  and  I  hold  the 
bonds  for  the  purchase-money." 

"If  my  father  had  suspected  you  of  being  a  faithless 
man,"  said  Romola,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  scorn,  which  insisted 
on  darting  out  before  she  could  say  anything  else,  "  he  would 
have  placed  the  library  safely  out  of  your  power.  But  deatli 
overtook  him  too  soon,  and  when  you  were  sure  his  ear  was 
deaf,  and  his  liand  stifl",  you  robbed  him."  She  paused 
an  instant,  and  then  said  with  gathered  passion  :   "  Have  you 


The  door  of  the  Chapter  House  in  the  outer 
cloister  of  the  Convent  of  St.  Mark 


>  .'  yfiflBaB«fl^i*s '. 


ft31IEf>'!%;f"-».'7;-.j 


.1 


A   REVELATION  11 

robbed  somebody  else,  who  is  not  dead  ?     Is  that  the  reason 
you  wear  armour  ?  " 

Roraola  had  been  driven  to  utter  the  words  as  men  are 
driven  to  use  the  lash  of  the  horsewhip.  At  first  Tito  felt 
horribly  cowed ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  disgrace  he  had 
been  dreading  would  be  worse  than  he  had  imagined  it.  But 
soon  there  was  a  reaction :  such  power  of  dislike  and  resist- 
ance as  tliere  was  within  him  was  beginnmg  to  rise  against  a 
wife  whose  voice  seemed  like  the  herald  of  a  retributive 
fate.  Her,  at  least,  his  quick  mind  told  him  that  he  might 
master. 

"  It  is  useless,"  he  said  coolly,  "  to  answer  the  words  of 
madness,  Eomola.  Your  peculiar  feeling  about  your  father 
has  made  you  mad  at  this  moment.  Any  rational  person 
looking  at  the  case  from  a  due  distance  will  see  that  I  have 
taken  the  wisest  course.  Apart  from  the  influence  of  your 
exaggerated  feelings  on  him,  I  am  convinced  that  Messer 
Bernardo  would  be  of  that  opinion. '^ 

"  He  would  not ! "  said  Eomola.  "  He  lives  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  my  father's  wish  exactly  fulfilled.  Wc 
spoke  of  it  together  only  yesterday.  He  will  help  me  yet. 
Who  are  these  men  to  whom  you  have  sold  my  father's 
property  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  told,  except 
that  it  signifies  little.  The  Count  di  San  Severino  and  the 
Seneschal  de  Beaucaire  are  now  on  their  way  with  the  king  to 
Siena.'' 

"They  maybe  overtaken  and  persuaded  to  give  up  their 
purchase,"  said  Eomola,  eagerly,  her  anger  beginning  to  be 
surmounted  by  anxious  thought. 

"  No,  they  may  not,"  said  Tito,  with  cool  decision. 

«  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  do  not  choose  that  they  should." 


12  ROMOLA 

"  But  if  you  were  paid  the  uioucy  ?  —  we  will  pay  you 
the  money,"  said  llomola. 

No  words  could  have  disclosed  more  fully  her  sense  of 
alienation  from  Tito ;  but  they  were  spoken  with  less  of  bitter- 
ness than  of  anxious  pleading.  And  he  felt  stronger,  for  he 
saw  that  the  first  impulse  of  fury  was  past. 

"  No,  my  Eomola.  Understand  that  such  thoughts  as 
these  are  impracticable.  You  would  not,  in  a  reasonable 
moment,  ask  your  godfather  to  bury  three  thousand  florins 
in  addition  to  what  he  has  already  paid  on  the  library.  I 
think  your  pride  and  delicacy  would  shrink  from  that." 

She  began  to  tremble  and  turn  cold  again  with  dis- 
couragement, and  sank  down  on  the  carved  chest  near  which 
she  was  standing.  He  went  on  in  a  clear  voice,  under  which 
she  shuddered,  as  if  it  had  been  a  narrow  cold  stream  coursing 
over  a  hot  cheek. 

"Moreover,  it  is  not  my  will  that  Messer  Bernardo 
should  advance  the  money,  even  if  the  project  were  not  an 
utterly  wild  one.  And  I  beg  you  to  consider,  before  you 
take  any  step  or  utter  any  word  on  the  subject,  what  will  be 
the  consequences  of  your  placing  yourself  in  opposition  to 
me,  and  trying  to  exhibit  your  husband  in  the  odious  light 
which  your  own  distempered  feelings  cast  over  him.  What 
object  will  you  serve  by  injuring  me  with  Messer  Bernardo  ? 
The  event  is  irrevocable,  the  library  is  sold,  and  you  are  my 
wife." 

Every  word  was  spoken  for  the  sake  of  a  calculated 
effect,  for  his  intellect  was  urged  into  the  utmost  activity  by 
the  danger  of  the  crisis.  He  knew  that  Eomola's  mind 
would  take  in  rapidly  enough  all  the  wide  meaning  of  his 
speech.     He  waited  and  watched  her  in  silence. 

She  had  turned  her  eyes  from  him,  and  was  looking  on 
the  ground,  and  in  that   way  she  sat  for  several   minutes. 


A   REVELATION  13 

When  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  quite  altered,  —  it  was  quiet 
and  cold. 

"  I  have  one  thing  to  ask/* 

"  Ask  anything  that  I  can  do  without  injuring  us  both, 
Romola." 

"  That  you  will  give  me  that  portion  of  the  money  which 
belongs  to  my  godfather,  and  let  me  pay  him/' 

"  I  must  have  some  assurance  from  you,  first,  of  the 
attitude  you  intend  to  take  towards  me." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  assurances,  Tito  ?  "  she  said,  with 
a  tinge  of  returning  bitterness. 

"  From  you  I  do." 

"  I  will  do  you  no  harm.  I  shall  disclose  nothing.  I 
will  sny  nothing  to  pain  him  or  you.  You  say  truly,  the 
event  is  irrevocable." 

"Then  I  will  do  what  you  desire  to-morrow  morning." 

"  To-night,  if  possible,"  said  Romola,  "  that  we  may  not 
speak  of  it  again." 

"  It  is  possible,"  he  said,  moving  towards  the  lamp, 
while  she  sat  still,  looking  away  from  him  with  absent 
eyes. 

Presently  he  came  and  bent  down  over  her,  to  put  a  piece 
of  paper  into  her  hand.  "  You  will  receive  something  in 
return,  you  are  aware,  my  Eomola  ? "  he  said  gently,  not 
minding  so  much  what  bud  passed,  now  he  was  secure ;  ;uul 
feeling  able  to  try  and  propitiate  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  taking  the  paper,  without  looking  at 
him,  "  I  understand." 

"  And  you  will  forgive  me,  my  Romola,  when  you  have 
had  time  to  reflect."  He  just  touched  her  brow  with  his 
lips ;  but  she  took  no  notice,  and  seemed  really  unconscious 
of  the  act. 

She  was  aware  that  he  unlocked  the  door  and  went  out. 


14  ROMOLA 

She  moved  her  head  and  listened.  The  great  door  of  the 
court  opened  aud  shut  again.  She  started  up  as  if  some 
sudden  freedom  had  come,  and  going  to  her  father's  chair 
where  his  picture  was  propped,  fell  on  her  knees  before  it, 
and  burst  into  sobs. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BALDASSARRE    MAKES    AN    ACQUAINTANCE 

WHEN  Baldassarre  was  wandering  about  Florence 
in  search  of  a  spare  outhouse  where  he  might 
have  the  cheapest  of  sheltered  beds,  his  steps  had 
been  attracted  towards  that  sole  portion  of  ground  within  the 
walls  of  the  city  which  is  not  perfectly  level,  and  where  the 
spectator,  lifted  above  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  can  see  beyond 
the  city  to  the  protecting  hills  and  far-stretchmg  valley, 
otherwise  shut  out  from  his  view  except  along  the  welcome 
opening  made  by  the  course  of  the  Arno.  Part  of  that 
ground  has  been  already  seen  by  us  as  the  hill  of  Bogoli,  at 
that  time  a  great  stone-quarry ;  but  the  side  towards  which 
Baldassarre  directed  his  steps  was  the  one  that  sloped  down 
behind  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  and  was  most  commonly  called  the 
hill  of  San  Giorgio.  Bratti  had  told  him  that  Tito's  dwell- 
ing was  in  the  Via  de^  Bardi ;  and  after  surveying  that  street, 
he  turned  up  the  slope  of  the  hill  which  he  had  observed  as 
he  was  crossing  the  bridge.  If  he  could  find  a  sheltering 
outhouse  on  that  hill,  he  would  be  glad ;  he  had  now  for 
some  years  been  accustomed  to  live  with  a  broad  sky  about 
him ;  and,  moreover,  the  narrow  passes  of  the  streets,  with 
their  strip  of  sky  above,  and  the  unknown  labyrinth  around 
them,  seemed  to  intensify  his  sense  of  lonehness  and  feeble 
memory. 


16  ROMOLA 

The  hill  was  sparsely  inhabited,  and  covered  chiefly  by 
gardens ;  but  in  one  spot  was  a  piece  of  rough  ground  jagged 
with  great  stones,  which  had  never  been  cultivated  since  a 
lan.dslip  had  ruined  some  houses  there  towards  the  end  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  Just  above  the  edge  of  this  broken 
ground  stood  a  queer  little  square  building,  looking  like  a 
truncated  tower  roofed  in  with  fluted  tiles ;  and  close  by  was 
a  small  outhouse,  apparently  built  up  against  a  piece  of  ruined 
stonewall.  Under  a  large  half-dead  mulberry  tree  that  was 
now  sending  its  last  fluttering  leaves  in  at  the  open  doorways 
a  shrivelled,  hardy  old  woman  was  untying  a  goat  with  two 
kids,  and  Baldassarre  could  see  that  part  of  the  outbuilding 
w:is  occupied  by  live-stock ;  but  the  door  of  the  other  j)art 
was  open,  and  it  was  empty  of  everything  but  some  tools  and 
straw.  It  was  just  the  sort  of  place  he  wanted.  He  spoke 
to  the  old  woman ;  but  it  was  not  till  he  got  close  to  her  and 
shouted  in  her  ear,  that  he  succeeded  in  making  her  under- 
stand his  want  of  a  lodging,  and  his  readiness  to  pay  for  it. 
At  first  he  could  get  no  answer  beyond  shakes  of  the  head 
and  tlie  words,  "No  —  no  lodging,-'-'  uttered  in  the  mulfled 
tone  of  the  deaf.  But,  by  dint  of  persistence,  he  made  clear 
to  her  that  he  was  a  poor  stranger  from  a  long  way  over  seas, 
and  could  not  afibrd  to  go  to  hostelries  ;  that  he  only  wanted 
to  lie  on  the  straw  in  the  outhouse,  and  would  pay  her  a 
quattrino  or  two  a  week  for  that  shelter.  She  still  looked  iit 
him  dubiously,  shaking  her  head  and  talking  low  to  herself; 
but  presently,  as  if  a  new  thought  occurred  to  her,  she  fetched 
a  hatchet  from  the  house  and,  showing  him  a  chump  that  lay 
half  covered  with  litter  in  a  corner,  asked  him  if  he  would  chop 
that  up  for  her;  if  he  would,  he  might  lie  in  the  outhouse 
for  one  night.  He  agreed,  and  TMonna  Lisa  stood  with  her 
arms  akimbo  to  watch  him,  with  a  smile  of  gratified  cuiming, 
saying  low  to  herself,  — 


Fra  Ginoi.A.MO  Savoxauoi.a 


BALDASSARRE   MAKES   ACQUAINTANCE    17 

"  It 's  lain  there  ever  since  my  old  man  died.  What 
then?  I  might  as  well  have  put  a  stone  on  the  fire.  He 
chops  very  well,  though  he  does  speak  with  a  foreign  tongue, 
and  looks  odd.  I  could  n^t  have  got  it  done  cheaper.  And 
if  he  only  wants  a  bit  of  straw  to  lie  on,  I  might  make  him 
do  an  errand  or  two  up  and  down  the  hill.  Who  need  know  ? 
And  sin  that  ^s  hidden  's  half  forgiven.^  He  's,  a  stranger  : 
he  ^11  take  no  notice  of  her.  And  I  ■'11  tell  her  to  keep  her 
tongue  still.'' 

The  antecedent  to  these  feminine  pronouns  had  a  pair  of 
blue  eyes,  which  at  that  moment  were  applied  to  a  large  round 
hole  in  the  shutter  of  the  upper  window.  The  shutter  was 
closed,  not  for  any  penal  reasons,  but  because  only  the  oppo- 
site window  had  the  luxury  of  glass  in  it :  the  weather  was 
not  warm,  and  a  round  hole  four  inches  in  diameter  served 
all  the  purposes  of  observation.  The  hole  was,  unfortunately, 
a  little  too  high,  and  obliged  the  small  observer  to  stand  on  a 
low  stool  of  a  rickety  character ;  but  Tessa  would  have  stood 
a  long  while  in  a  much  more  inconvenient  position  for  the 
sake  of  seeing  a  little  variety  in  her  life.  She  had  been  drawn 
to  the  opening  at  the  first  loud  tones  of  the  strange  voice 
speaking  to  Monna  Lisa ;  and  darting  gently  across  her  room 
every  now  and  then  to  peep  at  something,  she  continued  to 
stand  tliere  until  the  wood  had  been  chopped,  and  she  saw 
Baldassarre  enter  the  outhouse,  as  the  dusk  was  gathering, 
and  seat  himself  on  the  straw. 

A  great  temptation  had  laid  hold  of  Tessa's  mind  ;  she 
would  go  and  take  that  old  man  part  of  her  supper  and  talk 
to  him  a  little.  He  was  not  deaf  like  Monna  Lisa,  and  be- 
sides she  could  say  a  great  many  things  to  him  that  it  was  no 

^  The  Italian  proverb  "  Percato  celato  e  mezzo  perdonato"  means  that  a 
hidden  sin  is  more  worthy  of  forgiveness  than  a  sin  which  is  known  to  others. 
—  Editor. 

VOL.    II.  —  2 


18  ROMOLA 

use  to  sliout  at  Moiiim  Lisa,  wlio  knew  them  already.  And 
ho  was  a  stranger,  —  strangers  came  from  a  long  way  off  and 
went  away  again,  and  lived  nowhere  in  particular.  It  was 
naughty,  she  knew,  for  obedience  made  the  largest  part  in 
Tessa's  idea  of  duty  ;  but  it  would  be  something  to  confess 
to  the  Padre  next  Pasqua,  and  there  was  nothing  else  to  con- 
fess except  going  to  sleep  sometimes  over  her  beads,  and  be- 
ing a  little  cross  with  Monna  Lisa  because  she  was  so  deaf; 
for  she  had  as  much  idleness  as  she  liked  now,  and  was  never 
frightened  into  telling  white  lies.  She  turned  away  from  her 
shutter  with  rather  an  excited  expression  in  her  childish  face, 
which  was  as  pretty  and  pouting  as  ever.  Her  garb  was 
still  that  of  a  simple  contadina,  but  of  a  contadina  prepared 
for  a  festa  :  her  gown  of  dark-green  serge,  with  its  red  girdle, 
was  very  clean  and  neat ;  she  had  the  string  of  red  glass  beads 
round  her  neck ;  and  her  brown  hair,  rough  from  curliness, 
was  duly  knotted  up,  and  fastened  with  the  silver  pin.  She 
had  but  one  new  ornament,  and  she  was  very  proud  of  it,  for 
it  was  a  fine  gold  ring. 

Tessa  sat  on  a  low  stool,  nursing  her  knees,  for  a  minute 
or  two,  with  her  little  soul  poised  in  fluttering  excitement  on 
the  edge  of  this  pleasant  transgression.  It  was  quite  irresis- 
tible. She  had  been  commanded  to  make  no  acquaintances, 
and  warned  that  if  she  did,  all  her  new  happy  lot  would  van- 
ish away,  and  be  like  a  liiddcn  treasure  that  turned  to  lead 
as  soon  as  it  was  brouglit  to  the  dayliglit ;  and  she  had  been  so 
obedient  that  when  she  had  to  go  to  church  she  had  kept  her 
face  shaded  by  her  hood  and  had  pursed  up  her  li])s  quite 
tightly.  It  was  true,  her  obedience  liad  been  a  little  lielped 
by  her  own  dread  lest  the  alarming  stepfather  Nofri  should 
turn  up  even  in  this  quarter,  so  far  from  the  Por'  del  Prato, 
and  beat  her  at  least,  if  he  did  not  drag  her  back  to  work  for 
him.     But  this  old  man  was  not  an  acquaintance ;  lie  was  a 


BALDASSARRE   MAKES   ACQUAINTANCE   19 

poor  stranger  going  to  sleep  in  the  outhouse,  and  he  probably 
knew  nothing  of  stepfather  Nofri ;  and,  besides,  if  slic  took 
him  some  supper,  he  would  like  her,  and  not  want  to  tell 
anything  about  her.  Monna  Lisa  would  say  she  must  not 
go  and  talk  to  him,  therefore  Monna  Lisa  must  not  be  con- 
sulted. It  did  not  signify  what  she  found  out  after  it  had 
been  done. 

Supper  was  being  prepared,  she  knew,  —  a  mountain  of 
maccaroni  flavoured  with  cheese,  fragrant  enough  to  tame  any 
stranger.  So  she  tripped  downstairs  with  a  mind  full  of  deej) 
designs,  and  first  asking  with  an  innocent  look  what  that 
noise  of  talking  had  been,  without  waiting  for  an  answer  knit 
her  brow  with  a  peremptory  air,  something  like  a  kitten  try- 
ing to  be  formidable,  and  sent  the  old  woman  upstairs ;  say- 
ing, she  chose  to  eat  her  supj)er  downi  below.  In  three 
minutes  Tessa,  with  her  lantern  in  one  hand  and  a  wooden 
bowl  of  maccaroni  in  the  other,  was  kicking  gently  at  the  door 
of  the  outhouse ;  and  Baldassarre,  roused  from  sad  revery, 
doubted  in  the  first  moment  whether  he  were  awake  as  he 
opened  the  door  and  saw  this  sur])rising  little  handmaid, 
with  delight  in  her  wide  eyes,  breaking  in  on  his  dismal 
loneliness. 

"  I  've  brought  you  some  supper,"  she  said,  lifting  her 
mouth  towards  his  ear  and  shouting,  as  if  lie  had  been  deaf 
like  Monna  Lisa.  "  Sit  down  and  eat  it  while  I  stay  with 
you." 

Surprise  and  distrust  surmounted  every  other  feeling  in 
Baldassarre;  but  though  he  had  no  smile  or  word  of  grati- 
tude ready,  there  could  not  be  any  impulse  to  push  away  this 
visitant,  and  he  sank  down  passively  on  his  straw  again,  while 
Tessa  placed  herself  close  to  him,  put  the  wooden  bowl  on  his 
lap,  and  set  down  the  lantern  in  front  of  them,  crossing  her 
hands  before  her,  and  nodding  at  the  bowl  wifli  a  significant 


so  ROMOLA 

smile,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Yes,  you  may  really  eat  it/'  F(jr 
in  the  exeitcment  of  carrying  out  her  deed,  she  had  forgotten 
her  previous  thought  that  the  stranger  would  not  be  deaf,  and 
had  fallen  into  her  habitual  alternative  of  dumb  show  and 
shouting. 

The  invitation  was  not  a  disagreeable  one,  for  he  had  been 
gnawing  a  remnant  of  dry  bread,  which  had  left  2)lcnty  of 
appetite  for  anything  warm  and  relishing.  Tessa  watched  the 
disappearance  of  two  or  three  mouthfuls  without  speaking, 
for  she  had  thought  his  eyes  rather  fierce  at  first ;  but  now 
she  ventured  to  put  her  mouth  to  his  ear  again  and  cry,  — 

"  I  like  my  supper,  don't  you  ?  " 

It  was  not  a  smile,  but  rather  the  milder  look  of  a  dog 
touched  by  kindness,  but  unable  to  smile,  that  Baldassarre 
turned  on  this  round  blue-eyed  thing  that  was  caring  about 
him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  can  hear  well,  — •  I  'ni  not 
deaf.'' 

"It  is  true;  I  forgot/'  said  Tessa,  lifting  her  hands. and 
clasphig  them.  "  But  Monna  Lisa  is  deaf  and  I  live  with 
her.  iShe  's  a  kind  old  woman,  and  I  'm  not  frightened  at 
lier.  And  we  live  very  well ;  we  have  plenty  of  nice  things. 
I  can  have  nuts  if  I  like.  And  I  'm  not  obliged  to  work 
now.  I  used  to  have  to  work,  and  I  did  n't  like  it ;  but  I 
liked  feeding  the  mules,  and  I  should  like  to  see  poor  Gian- 
netta,  the  little  mule,  again.  .  We  've  only  got  a  goat  and  two 
kids,  and  I  used  to  talk  to  the  goat  a  good  deal,  because 
there  was  nobody  else  but  Monna  Lisa.  But  now  I  've  got 
something  else,  —  can  you  guess  what  it  is  ?  " 

She  drew  her  head  back,  and  looked  with  a  challenging 
smile  at  Baldassarre,  as  if  she  had  proposed  a  difficult  riddle 
to  him. 

"  No,"  said  he,  putting  aside  his  bowl,  and  looking  at 


«      i' 


2 


BALDASSARRE   MAKES   ACQUAINTANCE   21 

her  dreamily.  It  seemed  as  if  this  young  prattling  thing 
were  some  memory  come  back  out  of  his  own  youth. 

"  You  like  me  to  talk  to  you,  don^t  you  ?  "  said  Tessa ; 
"  but  you  must  not  tell  anybody.  Shall  I  fetch  you  a  bit 
of  cold  sausage  ?^^ 

He  shook  his  head,  but  he  looked  so  mild  now  that 
Tessa  felt  quite  at  her  ease. 

"Well,  then,  I''ve  got  a  little  baby.  Such  a  pretty 
bambinetto,  with  little  fingers  and  nails !  Not  old  yet ;  it 
was  born  at  the  Nativita,  Monna  Lisa  says.  I  was  married 
one  Nativita,  a  long,  long  while  ago,  and  nobody  knew.  O 
Santa  Madonna  !    I  did  n^t  mean  to  tell  you  that !  " 

Tessa  set  up  her  shoulders  and  bit  her  lij),  looking 
at  Baldassarre  as  if  this  betrayal  of  secrets  must  have  an 
exciting  effect  on  him  too.  But  he  seemed  not  to  care  much ; 
and  perhaps  that  was  in  the  nature  of  strangers. 

"  Yes,''  she  said,  carrying  on  her  thought  aloud,  "  you 
are  a  stranger ;  you  don't  live  anywhere  or  know  anybody,  do 
you?" 

"  No,"  said  Baldassarre,  also  thinking  aloud,  rather  than 
consciously  answering ;  "  I  only  know  one  man." 

"  His  name  is  not  Nofri,  is  it  ?  "  said  Tessa,  anxiously. 

"  No,"  said  Baldassarre,  noticing  her  look  of  fear.  "  Is 
that  your  husband's  name  ?  " 

That  mistaken  supposition  was  very  amusing  to  Tessa. 
She  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands  as  she  said, — 

"  No,  indeed  !  But  I  must  not  tell  you  anything  about 
my  husband.  You  would  never  think  what  he  is,  —  not  at 
all  like  Nofri !  " 

She  laughed  again  at  the  delightful  incongruity  between 
the  name  of  Nofri  —  which  was  not  separable  from  the  idea 
of  the  cross-grained  stepfather,  —  and  the  idea  of  her 
husband. 


22  ROMOLA 

''But  I  dou^t  sec  liim  very  often,"  she  went  on,  more 
gravely.  "  And  sometimes  I  pray  to  the  Holy  IMadoniia  to 
send  him  oftener,  and  once  she  did.  But  I  must  go  back  to 
my  bimbo  now.  I  ^11  bring  it  to  show  you  to-morrow.  You 
would  like  to  see  it.  Sometimes  it  cries  and  makes  a  face, 
but  only  wlien  it 's  hungry,  Monna  Lisa  says.  You  would  n't 
think  it,  but  Monna  Lisa  had  babies  once,  and  they  are  all 
dead  old  men.  My  husband  says  she  will  never  die  now, 
because  she  's  so  well  dried.  I  'm  glad  of  that,  for  I  'm  fond 
of  her.  You  would  like  to  stay  here  to-morrow,  should  n't 
you  ?  " 

"I  should  like  to  have  this  place  to  come  and  rest  in, 
that^s  all,"  said  Baldassarre.  "I  would  pay  for  it,  and  harm 
nobody." 

"No,  indeed;  I  think  you  are  not  a  bad  old  man.  But 
you  look  sorry  about  something.  Tell  me,  is  there  anything 
you  shall  cry  about  when  I  leave  you  by  yourself  ?  I  used  to 
cry  once." 

"  No,  child ;  I  think  I  shall  cry  no  more." 

"  That 's  right ;  and  I  '11  bring  you  some  breakfast,  and 
show  you  the  bimbo.     Good-night." 

Tessa  took  up  her  bowl  and  lantern,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her.  The  pretty  loving  apparition  had  been  no  more 
to  Baldassarre  than  a  faint  rainbow  on  the  blackness  to  the 
man  who  is  wrestling  in  deep  waters.  He  hardly  thought  of 
her  again  till  his  dreamy  waking  passed  into  the  more  vivid 
images  of  disturbed  sleep. 

But  Tessa  thought  much  of  him.  She  had  no  sooner 
entered  the  house  than  she  told  Monna  Lisa  what  she  had 
done,  and  insisted  that  the  stranger  should  be  allowed  to  come 
and  rest  in  the  outhouse  when  he  liked.  The  old  woman,  who 
had  had  her  notions  of  making  him  a  useful  tenant,  made  a 
great  show  of  reluctance,  shook   her  head,  and   urged  that 


BALDASSARRE   MAKES   ACQUAINTANCE  23 

Messer  Naldo  would  be  angry  if  she  let  any  one  come  about 
the  house.  Tessa  did  not  believe  that.  Naldo  had  said 
nothing  against  strangers  who  lived  nowhere ;  and  this  old 
man  knew  nobody  except  one  person,  who  was  not  Nofri. 

"  Well/'  conceded  Monna  Lisa  at  last,  "  if  I  let  him 
stay  for  a  while  and  carry  things  up  the  hill  for  me,  thou  must 
keep- thy  counsel  and  tell  nobody." 

"  No,"  said  Tessa,  "  I  '11  only  tell  the  bimbo." 

"  And  then,"  Monna  Lisa  went  on,  in  her  thick  under- 
tone, "  God  may  love  us  well  enough  not  to  let  Messer  Naldo 
find  out  anything  about  it.  For  he  never  comes  here  but  at 
dark ;  and  as  he  was  here  two  days  ago,  it 's  likely  he  '11 
never  come  at  all  till  the  old  man  's  gone  away  again." 

"  Oh  me  !  Monna,"  said  Tessa,  clasping  her  hands,  "  I 
wish  Naldo  had  not  to  go  such  a  long,  long  way  sometimes 
before  he  comes  back  again." 

"  Ah,  child !  the  world 's  big,  they  say.  There  are 
places  behind  the  mountains,  and  if  people  go  night  and  day, 
night  and  day,  they  get  to  Home,  and  see  the  Holy  Father." 

Tessa  looked  submissive  in  the  presence  of  this  mystery, 
and  began  to  rock  her  baby,  and  sing  syllables  of  vague 
loving  meaning,  in  tones  that  imitated  a  triple  chime. 

The  next  morning  she  was  unusually  industrious  in  the 
prospect  of  more  dialogue,  and  of  the  pleasure  she  should 
give  the  poor  old  stranger  by  showing  him  her  baby.  But 
before  she  could  get  ready  to  take  Baldassarre  his  breakfast, 
she  found  that  Monna  Lisa  had  been  employing  him  as  a 
drawer  of  water.  Slie  deferred  her  paternosters,  and  hurried 
down  to  insist  that  Baldassarre  should  sit  on  his  straw,  so 
that  she  might  come  and  sit  by  him  again  while  he  ate  his 
breakfast.  That  attitude  made  the  new  companionship  all 
the  more  delightful  to  Tessa,  for  she  had  been  used  to  sitting 
on  straw  in  old  days  along  with  her  goats  and  mules. 


M  ROMOLA 

"  I  ynW  not  let  Monna  Lisa  give  you  too  much  work  to 
do/^  she  said,  bringing  him  some  steaming  broth  and  soft 
bread.  "  I  don't  like  much  work,  and  I  dare  say  you  don't. 
I  like  sitting  in  the  sunshine  and  feeding  things.  Monna 
Lisa  says,  work  is  good;  but  she  does  it  all  herself,  so  I 
don't  mind.  She 's  not  a  cross  old  woman ;  you  need  n't  be 
afraid  of  her  being  cross.  And  now,  you  eat  that,  and  I  '11 
go  and  fetch  my  baby  and  show  it  you.''' 

Presently  she  came  back  with  the  small  mummy-case  in 
her  arms.  The  mummy  looked  very  lively,  having  unusu- 
ally large  dark  eyes,  though  no  more  than  the  usual  indication 
of  a  future  nose. 

"  This  is  my  baby,"  said  Tessa,  seating  herself  close  to 
Baldassarre.  "  You  did  n't  think  it  was  so  pretty,  did  you  ? 
It  is  like  the  little  Gesu,  and  I  should  think  the  Santa  Ma- 
donna would  be  kinder  to  me  now,  is  it  not  true  ?  But  I  have 
not  much  to  ask  for,  because  I  have  everything  now,  —  only 
that  I  should  see  my  husband  oftcner.  You  may  hold  the 
bambino  a  little  if  you  like,  but  I  think  you  must  not  kiss 
him,  because  you  might  hurt  him." 

She  spoke  this  prohibition  in  a  tone  of  soothing  excuse, 
and  Baldassarre  could  not  refuse  to  hold  the  small  package. 
"  Poor  thing  !  poor  tiling ! "  he  said  in  a  deep  voice  which 
had  something  strangely  threatening  in  its  apparent  pity. 
It  did  not  seem  to  him  as  if  this  guileless  loving  little  woman 
could  reconcile  him  to  the  world  at  all,  but  rather  that  she 
was  with  him  against  the  world,  that  she  was  a  creature  who 
would  need  to  be  avenged. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  be  sorry  for  me,"  she  said ;  "  for  though 
I  don't  see  him  often,  he  is  more  beautiful  and  good  than 
anybody  else  in  the  world.  I  say  prayers  to  him  when  he's 
away.     You  could  n't  think  what  he  is  !  " 

She    looked    at    Baldassarre    with    a    wide    glance    of 


BALDASSARRE   MAKES   ACQUAINTANCE    25 

mysterious  meaning,  taking  the  baby  from  him  again,  and 
almost  wishing  he  would  question  her  as  if  he  wanted  very 
much  to  know  more.  "Yes,  I  could,"  said  Baldassarre, 
rather  bitterly. 

"  No,  I  'm  sure  you  never  could,"  said  Tessa,  earnestly. 
"  You  thought  he  might  be  Nofri,"  she  added,  with  a  trium- 
phant air  of  conclusiveness.  "  But  never  mind ;  you  could  n^t 
know.     What  is  your  name  ?  " 

He  rubbed  his  hand  over  his  knitted  brow,  then  looked 
at  her  blankly  and  said,  "  Ah,  child,  what  is  it  ?  " 

It  was  not  that  he  did  not  often  remember  his  name 
well  enough ;  and  if  he  had  had  presence  of  mind  now  to 
remember  it,  he  would  have  chosen  not  to  tell  it.  But 
a  sudden  question  appealing  to  his  memory  had  a  paralyzing 
effect,  and  in  that  moment  he  was  conscious  of  nothing  but 
helplessness. 

Ignorant  as  Tessa  was,  the  pity  stirred  in  her  by  his 
blank  look  taught  her  to  say,  — 

"  Never  mind :  you  are  a  stranger,  it  is  no  matter  about 
your  having  a  name.  Good-by  now,  because  I  want  my 
breakfast.  You  wall  come  here  and  rest  when  you  like ; 
Monna  Lisa  says  you  may.  And  don't  you  be  unhappy,  for 
we  '11  be  good  to  you." 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  said  Baldassarre  again. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

NO   PLACE    FOR    REPENTANCE 

MESSER  NALDO  came  again  sooner  than  was  ex- 
pected :  he  came  on  the  evening  of  the  28th  of 
November,  only  eleven  days  after  his  previous  visit, 
proving  that  he  had  not  gone  far  beyond  the  mountains  ;  and 
a  scene  which  we  have  witnessed  as  it  took  place  that  evening 
in  the  Via  de'  Bardi  may  help  to  explain  the  impulse  which 
turned  his  steps  towards  the  hill  of  San  Giorgio. 

When  Tito  had  first  found  this  home  for  Tessa,  on  his 
return  from  Rome,  more  than  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  he  had 
acted,  he  persuaded  himself,  simply  under  the  constraint  im- 
posed on  him  by  his  own  kindliness  after  the  unlucky  inci- 
dent which  had  made  foolish  little  Tessa  imagine  him  to  be 
her  husband.  It  was  true  that  the  kindness  was  manifested 
towards  a  pretty  trusting  thing  whom  it  was  impossible  to  be 
near  without  feeling  inclined  to  caress  and  pet  her ;  but  it 
was  not  less  true  that  Tito  had  movements  of  kindness 
towards  her  apart  from  any  contemplated  gain  to  himself. 
Otherwise,  charming  us  her  prettincss  and  prattle  were  in 
a  lazy  moment,  he  might  have  preferred  to  be  free  from  her ; 
for  he  was  not  in  love  with  Tessa,  —  he  was  in  love  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  with  an  entirely  different  woman,  whom 
he  was  not  simply  inclined  to  shower  caresses  on,  but  whose 
presence  possessed  him  so  that  the  simple  sweep  of  her  long 
tresses  across  his  cheek  seemed  to  vibrate  through  the  hours. 
All  the  young  ideal  passion  he  had  in  him  had  been  stirred 
by  Romola,  and  his  fibre  was  too  fine,  his  intellect  too  bright. 


^2  "*: 
a  »  ^ 


2  S^?! 


NO  PLACE  FOR  REPENTANCE  27 

for  him  to  be  tempted  into  the  habits  of  a  gross  pleasure- 
seeker.  But  he  had  spun  a  web  about  himself  and  Tessa, 
which  he  felt  incapable  of  breaking  :  in  the  first  moments 
after  the  mimic  marriage  he  had  been  prompted  to  leave  her 
under  an  illusion  by  a  distinct  calculation  of  his  own  possible 
need,  but  since  that  critical  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  web  had  gone  on  spinning  itseK  in  spite  of  him,  like 
a  growth  over  which  he  had  no  power.  The  elements  of 
kindness  and  self-indulgence  are  hard  to  distinguish  in  a 
soft  nature  like  Tito's  ;  and  the  annoyance  he  had  felt  under 
Tessa's  pursuit  of  him  on  the  day  of  his  betrothal,  the 
thorough  intention  of  revealing  the  truth  to  her  with  which 
he  set  out  to  fulfil  his  promise  of  seeing  her  again,  were 
a  sufficiently  strong  argument  to  him  that  in  ultimately  leav- 
ing Tessa  under  her  illusion  and  providing  a  home  for  her, 
he  had  been  overcome  by  his  own  kindness.  And  in  these 
days  of  his  first  devotion  to  Eomola  he  needed  a  self- 
justifying  argument.  He  had  learned  to  be  glad  that  she 
was  deceived  about  some  things.  But  every  strong  feeling 
makes  to  itself  a  conscience  of  its  own,  —  has  its  own  piety  ; 
just  as  much  as  the  feeling  of  the  son  towards  the  mother, 
which  will  sometimes  survive  amid  the  worst  fumes  of  de])ra- 
vation;  and  Tito  could  not  yet  be  easy  in  committing  a 
secret  ofPence  against  his  wedded  love. 

But  he  was  all  the  more  careful  in  taking  precautions  to 
preserve  the  secrecy  of  the  offence.  Monna  Lisa,  who,  like 
many  of  her  class,  never  left  her  habitation  except  to  go  to 
one  or  two  particular  shops,  and  to  confession  once  a  year, 
knew  nothing  of  his  real  name  and  whereabout :  she  only 
knew  that  he  paid  her  so  as  to  make  her  very  comfortable, 
and  minded  little  about  the  rest,  save  that  she  got  fond  of 
Tessa,  and  found  pleasure  in  the  cares  for  which  she  was  paid. 
There  was  some  mystery  behind,  clearly,  since  Tessa   was 


28  ROMOLA 

a  coiitadina,  and  Messer  Naldo  was  a  signer  ^ ;  but,  for 
aught  Monna  Lisa  knew,  be  might  be  a  real  husband.  For 
Tito  had  thoroughly  frightened  Tessa  into  silence  about  the 
circumstances  of  their  marriage,  by  telling  her  that  if  she 
broke  that  silence  she  would  never  see  him  again ;  and 
Monna  Lisa's  deafness,  which  made  it  impossible  to  say  any- 
thing to  her  without  some  premeditation,  had  saved  Tessa 
from  any  incautious  revelation  to  her,  such  as  had  run  off 
her  tongue  in  talking  with  Baldassarre.  For  a  long  while 
Tito's  visits  were  so  rare  that  it  seemed  likely  enough  he 
took  journeys  between  them.  They  were  prompted  chiefly 
by  the  desire  to  see  that  all  things  were  going  on  well  with 
Tessa ;  and  though  he  always  found  his  visit  pleasanter  than 
the  prospect  of  it,  —  always  felt  anew  the  charm  of  that 
pretty  ignorant  lovingness  and  trust,  —  he  had  not  yet  any 
real  need  of  it.  But  he  was  determined,  if  possible,  to  pre- 
serve the  simplicity  on  which  the  charm  depended ;  to  keep 
Tessa  a  genuine  contadina,  and  not  place  the  small  field-flower 
among  conditions  that  would  rob  it  of  its  grace.  He  would 
have  been  shocked  to  see  her  in  the  dress  of  any  other  rank 
than  her  own;  the  piquancy  of  her  talk  would  be  all  gone, 
if  things  began  to  have  new  relations  for  her,  if  her  world 
became  wider,  her  pleasures  less  childish ;  and  the  squirrel- 
like enjoyment  of  nuts  at  discretion  marked  the  standard  of 
the  luxuries  he  had  provided  for  her.  By  this  means  Tito 
saved  Tessa's  charm  from  being  sullied;  and  he  also,  by 
a  convenient  coincidence,  saved  himself  from  aggravating 
expenses  that  were  already  rather  importunate  to  a  man 
whose  money  was  all  required  for  his  avowed  habits  of 
Kfe. 

This  in  brief  had  been  the  history  of  Tito's  relation  to 

1  Signore  used  in  this  sense   is  modern.     The   authoress  should   have 
rather  used  gentiluomo.  —  Editoe. 


NO  PLACE   FOR   REPENTANCE  29 

Tessa  up  to  a  very  recent  date.  It  is  true  that  once  or  twice 
before  Bardo^s  deaths  tlie  sense  that  there  was  Tessa  up  tlie 
hill,  with  whom  it  was  possible  to  pass  an  hour  agreeably, 
had  been  an  inducement  to  him  to  escape  from  a  little  weari- 
ness of  the  old  man,  when,  for  lack  of  any  positive  engage- 
ment, he  might  otherwise  have  borne  the  weariness  patiently 
and  shared  Eomola's  burden.  But  the  moment  when  he  had 
first  felt  a  real  hunger  for  Tessa's  ignorant  lovingness  and 
belief  in  him  had  not  come  till  quite  lately,  and  it  was  dis- 
tinctly marked  out  by  circumstances  as  little  to  be  forgotten 
as  the  oncoming  of  a  malady  that  has  permanently  vitiated 
the  sight  and  hearing.  It  was  the  day  when  he  had  first  seen 
Baldassarre,  and  had  bought  the  armour.  Returning  across 
the  bridge  that  night,  with  the  coat  of  mail  in  his  hands,  he 
had  felt  an  unconquerable  shrinking  from  an  immediate  en- 
counter with  Romola.  She,  too,  knew  little  of  the  actual 
world ;  she,  too,  trusted  him ;  but  he  had  an  uneasy  con- 
sciousness that  behind  her  frank  eyes  there  was  a  nature  that 
could  judge  him,  and  that  any  ill-founded  trust  of  hers  sprang 
not  from  pretty  brute-like  incapacity,  but  from  a  nobleness 
which  might  prove  an  alarming  touchstone.  He  wanted  a 
little  ease,  a  little  repose  from  self-control,  after  the  agitation 
and  exertions  of  the  day ;  he  wanted  to  be  where  he  could 
adjust  his  mind  to  the  morrow,  without  caring  how  he  be- 
haved at  the  present  moment.  And  there  was  a  sweet,  ador- 
ing creature  within  reach  whose  joresence  was  as  safe  and 
unconstraining  as  that  of  her  own  kids,  —  who  would  believe 
any  fable,  and  remain  quite  unimpressed  by  public  opinion. 
And  so,  on  that  evening,  when  Eomola  was  waiting  and  lis- 
tening for  him,  he  turned  his  steps  up  the  hill. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  the  steps  took  the  same  course  on 
this  evening,  eleven  days  later,  when  he  had  had  to  recoil 
under  Romola's  first  outburst  of  scorn.     He  could  not  wish 


30  ROMOLA 

Tessa  in  liis  wife^s  place,  or  refrain  from  wishing  that  liis 
wife  should  be  thoroughly  reconciled  to  him  ;  for  it  was 
ilomola,  and  not  Tessa,  that  belonged  to  the  world  where  all 
the  larger  desires  of  a  man  who  had  ambition  and  eifectivc 
faculties  must  necessarily  lie.  But  he  wanted  a  refuge  from  a 
standard  disagreeably  rigorous,  of  which  he  could  not  make 
himself  independent  simply  by  thinking  it  folly ;  and  Tessa's 
little  soul  was  that  inviting  refuge. 

It  was  not  much  more  than  eight  o'clock  when  he  went 
up  the  stone  steps  to  the  door  of  Tessa's  room.  Usually  she 
heard  his  entrance  into  the  house,  and  ran  to  meet  him,  but 
not  to-night ;  and  when  he  opened  the  door  he  saw  the  reason. 
A  single  dim  light  was  burning  above  the  dying  fire,  and 
showed  Tessa  in  a  kneeling  attitude  by  the  head  of  the  bed 
where  the  baby  lay.  Her  head  had  fallen  aside  on  the  pillow, 
and  her  brown  rosary,  which  usually  hung  above  the  pillow 
over  the  picture  of  the  Madonna  and  the  golden  palm-branches, 
lay  in  the  loose  grasp  of  her  right  hand.  She  had  gone  fast 
asleep  over  her  beads.  Tito  stepped  lightly  across  the  little 
room,  and  sat  down  close  to  her.  She  had  probably  heard 
the  opening  of  the  door  as  part  of  her  dream,  for  he  had  not 
been  looking  at  her  two  moments  before  she  opened  her  eyes. 
She  opened  them  without  any  start,  and  remained  quite  mo- 
tioidess  looking  at  him,  as  if  the  sense  that  he  was  there 
smiling  at  her  shut  out  any  impulse  which  could  disturb  that 
happy  passivencss.  But  when  he  put  his  hand  under  her 
chin,  and  stooped  to  kiss  her,  she  said,  — 

"  I  dreamed  it,  and  then  I  said  it  was  dreaming,  —  and 
then  I  awoke,  and  it  was  true." 

"Little  sinner!"  said  Tito,  pinching  her  chin,  "you 
liave  not  said  half  your  prayers.  I  will  punish  you  by  not 
looking  at  your  baby ;  it  is  ugly." 

Tessa  did  not  like  those  words,  even  though  Tito  was 


NO   PLACE   FOR   REPENTANCE  31 

smiling.  She  had  some  pouting  distress  in  her  face,  as  she 
said,  bending  anxiously  over  the  baby,  — 

"  Ah,  it  is  not  true  !  He  is  prettier  than  anything. 
You  do  not  think  he  is  ugly.  You  will  look  at  him.  He  is 
even  prettier  than  when  you  saw  him  before,  —  only  he  ^s 
asleep,  and  you  can^t  see  his  eyes  or  his  tongue,  and  I  can't 
show  you  his  hair  —  and  it  grows  —  is  n't  that  wonderful  ? 
Look  at  him  !  It 's  true  his  face  is  very  much  all  alike 
when  he 's  asleep,  there  is  not  so  much  to  see  as  when  he  's 
awake.  If  you  kiss  him  very  gently,  he  won't  wake :  you 
want  to  kiss  him,  is  it  not  true  ?  " 

He  satisfied  her  by  giving  the  small  mummy  a  butterfly 
kiss,  and  then  putting  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  turning 
her  face  towards  him,  said,  — 

"  You  like  looking  at  the  baby  better  than  looking  at 
your  husband,  you  false  one." 

She  was  still  kneeling,  and  now  rested  her  hands  on 
his  knee,  looking  up  at  him  like  one  of  Fra  Lippo  Lippi's 
round-cheeked  adoring  angels. 

"  No,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head ;  "  I  love  you  always 
best,  only  I  want  you  to  look  at  the  bambino  and  love  him. 
I  used  only  to  want  you  to  love  me." 

"  And  did  you  expect  me  to  come  again  so  soon  ?  "  said 
Tito,  inclined  to  make  her  prattle.  He  still  felt  the  effects 
of  tlie  agitation  he  had  undergone,  —  still  felt  like  a  man 
who  has  been  violently  jarred ;  and  this  was  the  easiest  relief 
from  silence  and  solitude. 

"  Ah,  no,"  said  Tessa,  "  I  have  counted  the  days  — 
to-day  I  began  at  my  right  thumb  again  —  since  you  put  on 
the  beautiful  chain-coat  that  Messer  San  IMichele  gave  you  to 
take  care  of  you  on  your  journey.  And  you  liave  got  it  ou 
now,"  she  said,  peeping  through  the  opening  in  the  breast 
of  his  tunic.     "  Perhaps  it  made  you  come  back  sooner." 


32  ROMOLA 

"Perhaps  it  did,  Tessa/'  he  said.  "But  don't  mind 
the  coat  now.  Tell  mc  what  has  happened  since  I  was  here. 
Did  you  see  the  tents  in  the  Prato,  and  the  sohliers  and 
liorsemen  when  they  passed  the  bridges,  —  did  you  hear  the 
drums  and  trumpets  ?  " 

"  Yes_,  and  I  was  rather  frightened,  because  I  thought 
the  soldiers  might  come  up  here.  And  Monna  Lisa  was  a 
little  afraid  too,  for  she  said  they  might  carry  our  kids  off; 
she  said  it  was  their  business  to  do  mischief.  But  the  Holy 
Madonna  took  care  of  us,  for  we  never  saw  one  of  them  up 
here.  But  something  has  happened,  only  I  hardly  dare  tell 
you,  and  that  is  what  I  was  saying  more  Aves  for." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Tessa  ?  •"  said  Tito,  rather  anxiously. 
"  Make  haste  and  tell  me." 

"  Yes,  but  will  you  let  me  sit  on  your  knee  ?  because 
then  I  think  I  shall  not  be  so  frightened." 

He  took  her  on  his  knee,  and  put  his  arm  rouiul  her,  but 
looked  grave  :  it  seemed  that  something  unpleasant  must  pur- 
sue him  even  here. 

"  At  first  I  did  n't  mean  to  tell  you,"  said  Tessa,  speak- 
ing almost  in  a  whisper,  as  if  that  would  mitigate  the  offence ; 
"  because  we  thouglit  the  old  man  would  be  gone  away  before 
you  came  again,  and  it  would  be  as  if  it  had  not  been.  But 
now  he  is  there,  and  you  are  come,  and  I  never  did  anything 
you  told  me  not  to  do  before.  And  I  want  to  tell  you,  and 
then  you  will  perhaps  forgive  me,  for  it  is  a  long  while  before 
I  go  to  confession." 

"  Yes,  tell  me  everything,  my  Tessa."  He  began  to 
hope  it  was,  after  all,  a  trivial  matter. 

"  Oh,  you  will  be  sorry  for  him  :  I  'm  afraid  he  cries 
about  something  when  I  don't  see  him.  But  that  was  not 
the  reason  I  went  to  him  first;  it  was  because  I  wanted  to 
talk  to  him  and  sliow  liim  my  baby,  and  he  was  a  stranger 


Marsii.io  Fkixo 


tmmmmitltiftmtmJklmaimmmm^im 


J-'mm  lilt  conteiii/)(irai y  bust  in  the 
Duomo  by  Andrea  Ferrucci 


NO   PLACE   FOR  REPENTANCE  33 

that  lived  nowhere,  and  I  thought  you  would  n't  care  so  much 
about  my  talkmg  to  him.  And  I  think  he  is  not  a  bad  old 
man,  and  he  wanted  to  come  and  sleep  on  the  straw  next  to 
the  goats,  and  I  made  Monna  Lisa  say,  '  Yes,  he  might,'  and 
he 's  away  all  the  day  almost ;  but  when  he  comes  back  I  talk 
to  him,  and  take  him  something  to  eat." 

"Some  beggar,  I  suppose.  It  was  naughty  of  you, 
Tessa,  and  I  am  angry  with  Monna  Lisa.  I  must  have  him 
sent  away." 

"  No,  I  think  he  is  not  a  beggar,  for  he  wanted  to  pay 
Monna  Lisa,  only  she  asked  him  to  do  work  for  her  instead. 
And  he  gets  himself  shaved,  and  his  clothes  are  tidy  :  Monna 
Lisa  says  he  is  a  decent  man.  But  sometimes  I  think  he  is 
not  in  his  right  mind :  Lupo,  at  Peretola,  was  not  in  his  right 
mind,  and  he  looks  a  little  like  Lupo  sometimes,  as  if  he 
did  n't  know  where  he  was." 

"  What  sort  of  face  has  he  ?  "  said  Tito,  his  heart  begin- 
ning to  beat  strangely.  He  was  so  haunted  by  the  thouglit 
of  Baldassarre,  that  it  was  already  he  whom  he  saw  in  imagi- 
nation sitting  on  the  straw  not  many  yards  from  him.  "  Fetch 
your  stool,  my  Tessa,  and  sit  on  it." 

"  Shall  you  not  forgive  me  ?  "  she  said  timidly,  moving 
from  his  knee. 

"  Yes,  I  will  not  be  angry,  —  only  sit  down,  and  tell  me 
what  sort  of  old  man  this  is." 

"  I  can't  think  how  to  tell  you :  he  is  not  like  my  step- 
father Nofri,  or  anybody.  His  face  is  yellow,  and  he  has  deep 
marks  in  it;  and  his  hair  is  white,  but  there  is  none  on  the 
top  of  his  head :  and  liis  eyebrows  are  black,  and  he  looks 
from  under  them  at  me,  and  says,  '  Poor  thing  ! '  to  me,  as  if 
he  thought  I  was  beaten  as  I  used  to  be ;  and  that  seems  as  if 
he  could  n't  be  in  his  right  mind,  does  n't  it  ?  And  I  asked 
him  his  name  once,  but  he  could  n't  tell  me ;  yet  everybody 

VOL.  II.  —  3 


34  ROMOLA 

has  a  name,  —  is  it  not  true  ?  And  he  has  a  book  now,  and 
keeps  looking  at  it  ever  so  long,  as  if  he  were  a  Padre.  But 
I  think  he  is  not  saying  prayers,  for  his  lips  never  move ;  — 
ah,  you  are  angry  with  me,  or  is  it  because  you  are  sorry  for 
the  old  man  ?  " 

Tito's  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  Tessa ;  but  he  had  ceased 
to  see  her,  and  was  only  seeing  the  objects  her  words  sug- 
gested. It  was  this  absent  glance  which  frightened  her,  and 
she  could  not  help  going  to  kneel  at  his  side  again.  But  he 
did  not  heed  her,  and  she  dared  not  touch  him  or  speak  to 
him :  she  knelt,  trembling  and  wondering ;  and  this  state  of 
mind  suggesting  her  beads  to  her,  she  took  them  from  the 
floor,  and  began  to  tell  them  again,  her  pretty  lips  moving 
silently,  and  her  blue  eyes  wide  with  anxiety  and  struggling 
tears. 

Tito  was  quite  unconscious  of  her  movements,  uncon- 
scious of  his  own  attitude ;  he  was  in  that  rapt  state  in  which 
a  man  will  grasp  painful  roughness,  and  press  and  press  it 
closer,  and  never  feel  it.  A  new  possibility  had  risen  before 
him  which  might  dissolve  at  once  the  wretched  conditions  of 
fear  and  suppression  that  were  marring  his  life.  Destiny  had 
brought  within  his  reach  an  opportunity  of  retrieving  that 
moment  on  the  steps  of  the  Duomo,  when  the  Past  had  grasped 
him  with  living  quivering  hands,  and  he  had  disowned  it.  A 
few  steps,  and  he  might  be  face  to  face  with  his  father,  with 
no  witness  by ;  he  might  seek  forgiveness  and  reconciliation ; 
and  there  was  money  now,  from  the  sale  of  the  library,  to 
enable  them  to  leave  Florence  without  disclosure,  and  go  into 
Southern  Italy,  where  under  the  probable  French  rule  he  had 
already  laid  a  foundation  for  patronage.  Romola  need  never 
know  the  whole  truth,  for  she  could  have  no  certain  means  of 
identifying  that  prisoner  in  the  Duomo  with  Baldassarre,  or 
of  learning  what  had  taken  place  on  the  steps,  except  from 


NO   PLACE  FOR   REPENTANCE  35 

Baldassarre  himself;  and  if  his  father  forgave,  he  would  also 
consent  to  bury  that  offence. 

But  with  this  possibility  of  relief,  by  an  easy  spring, 
from  present  evil,  there  rose  the  other  possibility,  that  the 
fierce-hearted  man  might  refuse  to  be  propitiated.  Well  — 
and  if  he  did,  things  would  only  be  as  they  had  been  before  ; 
for  there  would  be  no  witness  by.  It  was  not  repentance  with 
a  white  sheet  round  it  and  taper  in  hand,  confessing  its  hated 
sin  in  the  eyes  of  men,  that  Tito  was  preparing  for  :  it  was  a 
repentance  that  would  make  all  things  pleasant  again,  and 
keep  all  past  unpleasant  things  secret.  And  Tito's  soft- 
heartedness,  his  indisposition  to  feel  himself  in  harsh  relations 
with  any  creature,  was  in  strong  activity  towards  his  father, 
now  his  father  was  brought  near  to  him.  It  would  be  a  state 
of  ease  that  his  nature  could  not  but  desire,  if  the  poisonous 
hatred  in  Baldassarre's  glance  could  be  replaced  by  something 
of  the  old  affection  and  complacency. 

Tito  longed  to  have  his  world  once  again  completely 
cushioned  with  good-will,  and  longed  for  it  the  more  eagerly 
because  of  what  he  had  just  suffered  from  the  collision  wdth 
Eomola.  It  was  not  difficult  to  him  to  smile  pleadingly  on 
those  whom  he  had  injured,  and  offer  to  do  them  much  kind- 
ness :  and  no  quickness  of  intellect  could  teU  him  exactly  the 
taste  of  that  honey  on  the  lips  of  the  injured.  The  opportu- 
nity was  there,  and  it  raised  an  inclination  which  hemmed  in 
the  calculating  activity  of  his  thought.  He  started  up,  and 
stepped  towards  the  door ;  but  Tessa's  cry,  as  she  dropped 
her  beads,  roused  him  from  his  absorption.  He  turned  and 
said,  — 

"My  Tessa,  get  me  a  lantern;  and  don't  cry,  little 
pigeon,  I  am  not  angry." 

Tliey  went  down  the  stairs,  and  Tessa  was  going  to  shout 
the  need  of  the  lantern  in  Monna  Lisa's  ear,  when  Tito,  who 


36  ROMOLA 

had  opened  the  door,  said :  "  Stay,  Tessa  —  no,  I  want  no 
lantern :  go  upstairs  again,  and  keep  quiet,  and  say  nothing 
to  Monna  Lisa/' 

In  half  a  minute  he  stood  before  the  closed  door  of  the 
outhouse,  where  the  moon  was  shining  white  on  the  old  paint- 
less  wood. 

In  this  last  decisive  moment  Tito  felt  a  tremor  upon  him, 
—  a  sudden  instinctive  shrinking  from  a  possible  tiger-glance, 
a  possible  tiger-leap.  Yet  why  should  he,  a  young  man,  be 
afraid  of  an  old  one  ?  a  young  man  with  armour  on,  of  an  old 
man  without  a  weapon  ?  It  was  but  a  moment's  hesitation, 
and  Tito  laid  his  hand  on  the  door.  Was  his  father  asleep  ? 
Was  there  nothing  else  but  the  door  that  screened  him  from 
the  voice  and  the  glance  which  no  magic  could  turn  into  case  ? 

Baldassarre  was  not  asleep.  There  was  a  square  opening 
high  in  the  wall  of  the  hovel,  through  whicli  the  moonbeams 
sent  in  a  stream  of  pale  light;  and  if  Tito  could  have  looked 
through  the  opening,  he  would  have  seen  his  father  seated  on 
the  straw,  with  something  that  shone  like  a  white  star  in  his 
hand.  Baldassarre  was  feeling  the  edge  of  his  poniard,  taking 
refuge  in  that  sensation  from  a  hopeless  blank  of  thought 
that  seemed  to  lie  like  a  great  gulf  between  his  passion  and 
its  aim. 

He  was  in  one  of  his  most  wretched  moments  of  conscious 
helplessness  :  he  had  been  poring,  while  it  was  light,  over  the 
book  that  lay  open  beside  him  :  tlien  he  had  been  trying  to 
recall  the  names  of  his  jewels,  and  the  symbols  engraved  on 
them ;  and  though  at  certain  other  times  he  had  recovered 
some  of  those  names  and  symbols,  to-night  they  were  all  gone 
into  darkness.  And  this  effort  at  inward  seeing  had  seemed 
to  end  in  utter  paralysis  of  memory.  He  was  reduced  to  a 
sort  of  mad  consciousness  that  he  was  a  solitary  pulse  of  just 
rage  in  a  world  filled  with  d.'finnt  baseness.     He  had  clutched 


Savonarola  preathine:  in  the  Duomo 


irCOMPENDIODIREVELATIONE  DELLO 

INVTILE  SERVO  Dl  lESV  CHRISTO 

FRATE  HJERONYMO  DA  FERRA 

RA  DELLORDINE  DE  ERA 

Tl  PREDICATORl 


ClESVS        MARIA 


BeSE3:2E2S3L23" 


ENCHE  Lungo  tempo  in  moltf  modipcr 
infpi'rarione  Diuina  io  habbia  prcdccte  mol 
techofefuturc.nicntedimeno  conddcrando 
lafcntenaa  del  noftro  faluatorc  chnfto  Icfu/ 
chedice.  Nolitefanctumdare  canibus:nccmittans  mar 
caritas  ucRras  ante  porcos:nc  forte  conculcent  cas  pcdi 
bus:&c6u€rfjdirumpanruos:Sono  fcmprc  ftato  fcarfo 
ncl  dire;  &:  non  mifono  cxrefo  piu  chc  mifia  parfo  ciTere 
ncceflano  alia  falutc  de&Ii  huomini  i  in  modo  che  ie  con 
clufioncnoflrcfono  dare  pochcadnen^ba  chc  molte  fie 

a  i 


From  an  old  ma/iuscript 


NO   PLACE   FOR   REPENTANCE  37 

and  unsheathed  his  dagger,  and  for  a  long  while  had  been 
feeling  its  edge,  his  mind  narrowed  to  one  image,  and  tlie 
dream  of  one  sensation,  —  the  sensation  of  plunging  that 
dagger  into  a  base  heart,  which  he  was  unable  to  pierce  in 
any  other  way. 

Tito  had  his  hand  on  the  door  and  was  pulling  it :  it 
dragged  against  the  ground,  as  such  old  doors  often  do ;  and 
Baldassarre,  startled  out  of  his  dreamlike  state,  rose  from  liis 
sitting  posture  in  vague  amazement,  not  knowing  where  lie 
was.  He  had  not  yet  risen  to  his  feet,  and  was  still  kneeling 
on  one  knee,  when  the  door  came  wide  open,  and  he  saw,  dark 
against  the  moonlight,  with  the  rays  falling  on  one  bright 
mass  of  curls  and  one  rounded  olive  cheek,  the  image  of  his 
revery,  —  not  shadowy,  —  close  and  real  like  water  at  the  lips 
after  the  thirsty  dream  of  it.  No  thought  could  come  athwart 
that  eager  thirst.  In  one  moment,  before  Tito  could  start 
back,  the  old  man,  with  the  preternatural  force  of  rage  in  his 
limbs,  had  sprung  forward,  and  the  dagger  had  flashed  out. 
In  the  next  moment  the  dagger  had  snapped  in  two;  and 
Baldassarre,  under  the  parrying  force  of  Tito^s  arm,  had 
fallen  back  on  the  straw,  clutching  the  hilt  with  its  bit  of 
broken  blade.  The  pointed  end  lay  sliining  agahist  Tito's 
feet. 

Tito  had  felt  one  great  heart-leap  of  terror  as  hv.  had 
staggered  under  the  weight  of  the  thrust :  he  felt  now  the 
triumph  of  deliverance  and  safety.  His  armour  had  been 
proved,  and  vengeance  lay  helpless  before  him.  But  the  tri- 
umph raised  no  devilish  impulse ;  on  the  contrary,  the  sight 
of  his  father  close  to  him  and  unable  to  injure  him  made  the 
effort  at  reconciliation  easier.  He  was  free  from  fear,  but  he 
had  only  the  more  unmixed  and  direct  want  to  be  free  from 
the  sense  that  he  was  hated.  After  they  had  looked  at  each 
other  a  little  while,  Baldassarre  lying  motionless  in  despairing 


38  ROMOLA 

rage,  Tito  said  in  his  soft  tones,  just  as  tliej  bad  sounded 
before  the  last  parting  on  the  shores  of  Greece, — 

"  Padre  mio  !  "  Tliere  was  a  pause  after  those  words, 
but  no  movement  or  sound  till  he  said,  — 

"  I  came  to  ask  your  forgiveness  !  " 

Again  he  paused,  that  the  healing  balm  of  those  words 
might  have  time  to  work.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  change 
in  Baldassarre  :  he  lay  as  he  had  fallen,  leaning  on  one  arm  : 
he  was  trembling,  but  it  was  from  the  shock  that  had  thrown 
him  down. 

"  I  was  taken  by  surprise  that  morning.  I  wish  now  to 
be  a  son  to  you  again.  I  wish  to  make  the  rest  of  your  life 
happy,  that  you  may  forget  what  you  have  suffered." 

He  paused  again.  He  had  used  the  clearest  and 
strongest  words  he  could  think  of.  It  was  useless  to  say 
more,  until  he  had  some  sign  that  Baldassarre  understood 
him.  Perhaps  his  mind  was  too  distcm})ered  or  too  imbecile 
even  for  that;  perhaps  the  shock  of  his  fall  and  his  dis- 
appointed rage  might  have  quite  suspended  the  use  of  his 
faculties. 

Presently  Baldassarre  began  to  move.  He  threw  away 
the  broken  dagger,  and  slowly  and  gradually,  still  trembling, 
began  to  raise  himself  from  the  ground.  Tito  put  out  his 
hand  to  help  him ;  and  so  strangely  quick  are  men's  souls 
that  in  this  moment,  when  he  began  to  feel  his  atonement  was 
accepted,  he  had  a  darting  thought  of  the  irksome  efforts  it 
entailed.  Baldassarre  clutched  the  hand  that  was  held  out, 
raised  himself  and  clutched  it  still,  going  close  up  to  Tito  till 
their  faces  were  not  a  foot  off  each  other.  Then  he  began  to 
speak,  in  a  deep  trembling  voice. 

"  I  saved  you  —  I  nurtured  you  —  I  loved  you.  You 
forsook  me  —  you  robbed  me  —  you  dem'ed  me.  What  can 
you  give  me  ?     You  have  made  the  world  bitterness  to  me  ; 


NO   PLACE   FOR   REPENTANCE  39 

but  there  is  oue  draught  of  sweetness  left,  —  that  you  shall 
know  agony." 

He  let  fall  Tito^s  hand,  and  going  backwards  a  little, 
first  rested  his  arm  on  a  projecting  stone  in  the  wall,  and 
then  sank  again  in  a  sitting  posture  on  the  straw.  The 
outleap  of  fur  J  in  the  dagger-thrust  had  evidently  exhausted 
him. 

Tito  stood  silent.  If  it  had  been  a  deep  yearning  emo- 
tion which  had  brought  him  to  ask  his  father's  forgiveness, 
the  denial  of  it  might  have  caused  him  a  pang  which  would 
have  excluded  the  rushing  train  of  thought  tliat  followed  those 
decisive  words.  As  it  was,  though  the  sentence  of  unchange- 
able hatred  grated  on  him  and  jarred  him  terribly,  his  mind 
glanced  round  with  a  self-preserving  instinct  to  see  how  far 
those  words  could  have  the  force  of  a  substantial  threat. 
When  he  had  come  down  to  speak  to  Baldassarre,  he  had  said 
to  himself  that  if  his  effort  at  reconciliation  failed,  things 
would  only  be  as  they  had  been  before.  The  first  glance  of 
his  mind  was  backward  to  that  thought  again,  but  the  future 
possibilities  of  danger  that  were  conjured  up  along  with  it 
brought  the  perception  that  things  were  not  as  they  had  been 
before,  and  the  perception  came  as  a  triumphant  relief.  There 
was  not  only  the  broken  dagger,  there  was  the  certainty,  from 
what  Tessa  had  told  him,  that  Baldassarre's  mind  was  broken 
too,  and  had  no  edge  that  could  reach  him.  Tito  felt  he 
had  no  choice  now :  he  must  defy  Baldassarre  as  a  mad, 
imbecile  old  man ;  and  the  chances  were  so  strongly  on  his 
side  that  there  was  hardly  room  for  fear.  No  \  except  the 
fear  of  having  to  do  many  unpleasant  things  in  order  to  save 
himself  from  what  was  yet  more  unpleasant.  And  one  of 
those  unpleasant  thhigs  must  be  done  immediately :  it  was 
very  difficult. 

"  Po  vou  mean  to  stay  here  ?  "  he  said, 


40  ROMOLA 

"No/'  said  Baldassarre,  bitterly,  "you  mean  to  turn 
me  out/' 

"  Not  so/'  said  Tito ;  "  I  only  ask." 

"1  tell  you,  you  have  turned  me  out.  If  it  is  your 
straw,  you  turned  me  off'  it  three  years  ago.'' 

"  Then  you  mean  to  leave  this  place  ?  "  said  Tito,  more 
anxious  about  this  certainty  than  the  ground  of  it. 

"  I  have  spoken/'  said  Baldassarre. 

Tito  turned  and  re-entered  the  house.  Monna  Lisa  was 
nodding ;  he  went  up  to  Tessa,  and  found  her  crying  by  the 
side  of  her  baby. 

"  Tessa,"  he  said,  sitting  down  and  taking  her  head  be- 
tween his  hands ;  "  leave  off"  crying,  little  goose,  and  listen  to 
me." 

He  lifted  her  chin  upward,  that  she  might  look  at  him, 
while  he  spoke  very  distinctly  and  emphatically. 

"You  must  never  speak  to  that  old  man  again.  He  is 
a  mad  old  man,  and  he  wants  to  kill  me.  Never  speak  to 
him  or  listen  to  him  again." 

Tessa's  tears  had  ceased,  and  her  lips  were  pale  with 
fright. 

"  Is  he  gone  away  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  He  will  go  away.  Remember  what  I  have  said  to 
you." 

"  Yes  ;  I  will  never  speak  to  a  stranger  any  more,"  said 
Tessa,  with  a  sense  of  guilt. 

He  told  her,  to  comfort  her,  that  he  would  come  again 
to-morrow ;  and  then  went  down  to  Monna  Lisa  to  rebuke 
her  severely  for  letting  a  dangerous  man  come  about  the 
house. 

Tito  felt  that  these  were  odious  tasks;  they  were  very 
evil-tasted  morsels,  but  they  were  forced  upon  him.  He 
heard  Monna  Lisa  fasten  the  door  hehmd  him,  and  turned 


PiERo  de'  Medici,  the  son 
of  Lorenzo  il  Magnifico 


From  the  portrait  by  Botticelli,  in  the  Ujizi  Gnllerij 


NO   PLACE   FOR  REPENTANCE  41 

away^  without  looting  towards  the  open  door  of  the  hovel. 
He  felt  secure  that  Baldassarre  would  go,  and  he  could  not 
wait  to  see  him  go.  Even  Ids  young  frame  and  elastic  spirit 
were  shattered  by  the  agitations  that  had  been  crowded  into 
this  single  evening. 

Baldassarre  was  still  sitting  on  the  straw  when  the 
shadow  of  Tito  passed  by.  Before  him  lay  the  fragments  of 
the  broken  dagger;  beside  him  lay  the  open  book,,  over 
which  he  had  pored  in  vain.  They  looked  like  mocking 
symbols  of  his  utter  helplessness ;  and  his  body  was  still  too 
trembling  for  him  to  rise  and  walk  away. 

But  the  next  morning  very  early,  when  Tessa  peeped 
anxiously  through  the  hole  in  the  shutter,  tho  door  of  the 
hovel  was  open,  and  the  strange  old  man  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHAT    FLORENCE    WAS    THINKING   OF 

FOU  several  days  Tito  saw  little  of  Romola.  He  told 
her  gently,  the  next  morning,  that  it  would  be  better 
for  her  to  remove  any  small  articles  of  her  own  from 
the  library,  as  there  would  be  agents  coming  to  pack  up  the 
antiquities.  Then,  leaning  to  kiss  her  on  the  brow,  he  sug- 
gested that  she  should  keep  in  her  own  room  where  the  little 
painted  tabernacle  was,  and  where  she  was  then  sitting,  so 
that  she  might  be  away  from  the  noise  of  strange  footsteps. 
Romola  assented  quietly,  making  no  sign  of  emotion  :  the 
night  had  been  one  long  waking  to  her,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
healthy  frame,  sensation  had  become  a  dull  continuous  pain, 
as  if  she  had  been  stunned  and  bruised.  Tito  divined  that 
she  felt  ill,  but  he  dared  say  no  more ;  he  only  dared,  per- 
ceiving that  her  hand  and  brow  were  stone  cold,  to  fetch 
a  furred  mantle  and  throw  it  lightly  round  her.  And  in 
every  brief  interval  that  he  returned  to  her,  the  scene  was 
nearly  the  same :  he  tried  to  propitiate  her  by  some  unobtru- 
sive act  or  word  of  tenderness,  and  she  seemed  to  have  lost 
the  power  of  speaking  to  him,  or  of  looking  at  him.  "  Pa- 
tience ! "  he  said  to  himself.  "  She  will  recover  it,  and  for- 
give at  last.  The  tie  to  me  must  still  remain  the  strongest.'' 
When  the  stricken  person  is  slow  to  recover  and  look  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  the  striker  easily  ghdes  into  the  posi- 
tion of  the  aggrieved  party;  he  feels  no  bruise  himself,  and 
is  strongly  conscious  of  his  own  amiable  behaviour  since  he 
inflicted  the  blow.     But  Tito  was  not  naturally  disposed  to 


WHAT   FLORENCE    WAS  THINKING   OF    43 

feel  himself  aggrieved;  the  constant  bent  of  his  mind  was 
towards  propitiation,  and  he  would  have  submitted  to  much 
for  the  sake  of  feeling  llomola's  hand  resting  on  his  head 
again,  as  it  did  that  morning  when  he  first  shrank  from 
looking  at  her. 

But  he  found  it  the  less  difficult  to  wait  patiently  for 
the  return  of  his  home  happiness,  because  his  life  out  of  doors 
was  more  and  more  interesting  to  him.  A  course  of  action 
which  is  in  strictness  a  slowly  prepared  outgrowth  of  the 
entire  character,  is  yet  almost  always  traceable  to  a  single 
impression  as  its  point  of  apparent  origin ;  and  since  that 
moment  in  the  Piazza  del  Duomo,  when  Tito,  mounted  on 
the  bales,  had  tasted  a  keen  pleasure  in  the  consciousness 
of  his  ability  to  tickle  the  ears  of  men  with  any  phrases  that 
pleased  them,  his  imagination  had  glanced  continually 
towards  a  sort  of  political  activity  which  the  troubled  public 
life  of  Florence  was  likely  enough  to  find  occasion  for.  But 
the  fresh  dread  of  Baldassarre,  waked  in  the  same  moment, 
had  lain  like  an  immovable  rocky  obstruction  across  that 
path,  and  had  urged  him  into  the  sale  of  the  library,  as 
a  preparation  for  the  possible  necessity  of  leaving  Florence, 
at  the  very  time  when  he  was  beginning  to  feci  that  it  had 
a  new  attraction  for  him.  That  dread  was  nearly  removed 
now :  he  must  wear  his  armour  still,  he  must  prepare  him- 
self for  possible  demands  on  his  coolness  and  ingenuity,  but 
he  did  not  feel  obliged  to  take  the  inconvenient  step  of  leav- 
ing Florence  and  seeking  new  fortunes.  His  father  had  re- 
fused the  ofi'ered  atonement,  —  had  forced  him  into  defiance ; 
and  an  old  man  in  a  strange  place,  with  his  memory  gone, 
was  weak  enough  to  be  defied. 

Tito's  implicit  desires  were  working  themselves  out  now 
in  very  explicit  thoughts.  As  the  freshness  of  young  ])assion 
faded,  life  was  taking  more  and  more  decidedly  for  him  thq 


44.  ROMOLA 

aspect  of  a  game  in  which  there  was  an  agreeable  mingling  of 
skill  and  chance. 

And  the  game  that  might  be  played  in  Florence  prom- 
ised to  be  rapid  and  exciting ;  it  was  a  game  of  revolutionary 
and  party  struggle,  sure  to  include  plenty  of  that  unavowed 
action  in  which  brilliant  ingenuity,  able  to  get  rid  of  all  in- 
convenient beliefs  except  that  "  ginger  is  hot  in  the  mouth," 
is  apt  to  see  the  path  of  superior  wisdom. 

No  sooner  were  the  French  guests  gone,  than  Florence 
was  as  agitated  as  a  colony  of  ants  when  an  alarming  shadow 
has  been  removed,  and  the  camp  has  to  be  repaired.  "  How 
are  we  to  raise  the  money  for  the  French  king  ?  How  are 
we  to  manage  the  war  with  those  obstinate  Pisan  rebels  ? 
Above  all,  how  are  we  to  mend  our  plan  of  government,  so  as 
to  hit  on  the  best  way  of  getting  our  magistrates  chosen  and 
our  laws  voted  ?  "  Till  those  questions  were  well  answered 
trade  was  in  danger  of  standing  still,  and  tliat  large  body  of 
the  workingmen  who  were  not  counted  as  citizens  and  had 
not  so  much  as  a  vote  to  serve  as  an  anodyne  to  their  stom- 
achs were  likely  to  get  impatient.     Something  must  be  done. 

And  first  the  great  bell  was  sounded,  to  call  the  citizens 
to  a  parliament  in  the  Piazza  de'  Signori ;  and  when  the 
crowd  was  wedged  close,  and  hemmed  in  by  armed  men  at  all 
the  outlets,  the  Signoria  (or  Gonfaloniere  and  eight  Priors  for 
the  time  being)  came  out  and  stood  by  the  stone  lion  on  the 
])latform  in  front  of  the  Old  Palace,  and  proposed  that  twenty 
chief  men  of  the  city  should  have  dictatorial  authority  given 
them,  by  force  of  which  they  should  for  one  year  choose  all 
magistrates,  and  set  the  frame  of  government  in  order.  And 
the  people  shouted  their  assent,  and  felt  themselves  the  elec- 
tors of  the  Twenty.  This  kind  of  "Parliament"  was  a  very 
old  Florentine  fashion,  by  which  tlie  will  of  the  few  was  made 
to  seem  the  choice  of  the  many. 


WHAT  FLORENCE   WAS   THINKING   OF    45 

The  shouting  in  the,  piazza  was  soon  at  an  end,  but  not 
so  the  debating  inside  the  palace  :  was  Florence  to  have  a 
Great  Council  after  the  Venetian  mode,  where  all  the  officers 
of  government  might  be  elected,  and  all  laws  voted  by  a  wide 
number  of  citizens  of  a  certain  age  and  of  ascertained  quali- 
fications, without  question  of  rank  or  party  ?  or  was  it  to  be 
governed  on  a  narrower  and  less  popular  scheme,  in  which  the 
hereditary  influence  of  good  families  would  be  less  adulterated 
with  the  votes  of  shopkeepers  ?  Doctors  of  law  disputed  day 
after  day,  and  far  on  into  the  night.  Messer  Pagolantonio 
Soderini  alleged  excellent  reasons  on  the  side  of  the  jiopular 
scheme  ;  Messer  Guidantonio  Vespucci  alleged  reasons  equally 
excellent  on  the  side  of  a  more  aristocratic  form.  It  was  a 
question  of  boiled  or  roast,  which  had  been  prejudged  by  the 
palates  of  the  disputants;  and  the  excellent  arguing  might 
have  been  protracted  a  long  while  without  any  other  result 
than  that  of  deferring  the  cooking.  The  majority  of  the  men 
inside  the  palace,  having  power  already  in  their  hands,  agreed 
with  Vespucci,  and  thought  change  should  be  moderate  ;  the 
majority  outside  the  palace,  conscious  of  little  power  and 
many  grievances,  were  less  afraid  of  change. 

And  there  was  a  force  outside  the  palace  which  was 
gradually  tending  to  give  the  vague  desires  of  that  majority 
the  character  of  a  determinate  will.  That  force  was  the 
preaching  of  Savonarola.  Impelled  partly  by  the  spiritual 
necessity  that  was  laid  upon  him  to  guide  the  people,  and 
partly  by  the  prompting  of  public  men  who  could  get  no 
measures  carried  without  his  aid,  he  was  rapidly  passing  in 
his  daily  sermons  from  the  general  to  the  special,  — from  tell- 
ing his  hearers  that  they  must  postpone  their  private  passions 
and  interests  to  the  public  good,  to  telling  them  precisely 
what  sort  of  government  they  must  have  in  order  to  promote 
that  good,  —  from    "  Choose  whatever  is  best  for  all,^*    to 


46  ROMOLA 

"Choose  the  Great  Council/'  and  "The  Great  Council  is  the 
will  of  God." 

To  Savonarola  these  were  as  good  as  identical  proposi- 
tions. The  Great  Council  was  the  only  practicable  plan  for 
giving  an  expression  to  the  public  will  large  enough  to  coun- 
teract the  vitiating  influence  of  party  interests  :  it  was  a  plan 
that  would  make  honest  impartial  public  action  at  least 
possible.  And  the  purer  the  government  of  Florence  would 
become  —  the  more  secure  from  the  designs  of  men  who  saw 
their  own  advantage  in  the  moral  debasement  of  their  fellows 
—  the  nearer  would  the  Florentine  people  approach  the  char- 
acter of  a  pure  community,  worthy  to  lead  the  way  in  the 
renovation  of  the  Church  and  the  world.  And  Fra  Girolamo's 
mind  never  stopped  short  of  that  sublimest  end  :  the  objects 
towards  which  he  felt  himself  working  had  always  the  same 
moral  magnificence.  He  had  no  private  malice,  —  he  sought 
no  petty  gratification.  Even  in  the  last  terrible  days,  when 
ignominy,  torture,  and  the  fear  of  torture  had  laid  bare  every 
hidden  weakness  of  his  soul,  he  could  say  to  his  importunate 
judges  :  "  Do  not  wonder  if  it  seems  to  you  that  I  have  told 
but  few  things  ;  for  my  purposes  were  few  and  great." 


Bekxardo  Dovizi 


From  the  paintin;/  by  Raphntl,  in  the  Pilti  Gallery 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ARIADNE    DISCROWNS    HERSELF 

IT  was  more  than  three  weeks  before  the  contents  of  the 
library  were  all  packed  and  carried  away.    And  Romola, 

instead  of  shutting  her  eyes  and  ears^  had  watched  the 
process.  The  exhaustion  consequent  on  violent  emotion  is  apt 
to  bring  a  dreamy  disbelief  in  the  reality  of  its  cause ;  and  in 
the  evening,  when  the  workmen  were  gone,  Romola  took  her 
hand-lamp  and  walked  slowly  round  among  the  confusion  of 
straw  and  wooden  cases,  pausing  at  every  vacant  pedestal, 
every  well-known  object  laid  prostrate,  with  a  sort  of  bitter 
desire  to  assure  herself  that  there  was  a  sufficient  reason  why 
her  love  was  gone  and  the  world  was  barren  for  her.  And 
still,  as  the  evenings  came,  she  went  and  went  again;  no 
longer  to  assure  herself,  but  because  this  vivifying  of  pain  and 
despair  about  her  father's  memory  was  the  strongest  life  left 
to  her  affections.  On  the  23d  of  December  she  knew  that  the 
last  packages  were  going.  She  ran  to  the  loggia  at  the  top  of 
the  house,  that  she  might  not  lose  the  last  pang  of  seeing  the 
slow  wheels  move  across  the  bridge. 

It  was  a  cloudy  day,  and  nearing  dusk.  Arno  ran  dark 
and  shivering ;  the  hills  were  mournful ;  and  Florence  with 
its  girdling  stone  towers  had  that  silent,  tomb-like  look, 
which  unbroken  shadow  gives  to  a  city  seen  from  above. 
Santa  Croce,  where  her  father  lay,  was  dark  amidst  that 
darkness ;  and  slowly  crawling  over  the  bridge,  and  slowly 
vanishing  up  the  narrow  street,  was  the  white  load,  like  a 
cruel,  deliberate  Fate  carrying  away  her  father's  lifelong  hope 


48  ROMOLA 

to  bury  it  in  an  unmarted  grave.  Eomola  felt  less  tliat  slie 
was  seeing  this  licrsclf  than  that  her  father  was  conscious  of 
it  as  he  lay  helpless  under  the  imprisoning  stones,  where  her 
hand  could  not  reach  his  to  tell  him  that  he  was  not  alone. 

She  stood  still  even  after  the  load  had  disappeared,  heed- 
less of  the  cold,  and  soothed  by  the  gloom  which  seemed  to 
cover  her  like  a  mourning  garment  and  shut  out  the  discord 
of  joy  —  when  suddenly  the  great  bell  in  the  palace-tower 
rang  out  a  mighty  peal ;  not  the  hammer-sound  of  alarm,  but 
an  agitated  peal  of  triumph ;  and  one  after  another  every  other 
bell  in  every  other  tower  seemed  to  catch  the  vibration  and 
join  the  chorus.  And  as  the  chorus  swelled  and  swelled  till 
the  air  seemed  made  of  sound,  little  flames,  vibrating  too,  as 
if  the  sound  had  caught  fire,  burst  out  between  the  turrets  of 
the  palace  and  on  the  girdling  towers. 

That  sudden  clang,  that  leaping  light,  fell  on  Romola 
like  sharp  wounds.  They  were  the  triumph  of  demons  at  the 
success  of  her  husband's  treachery,  and  the  desolation  of  her 
life.  Little  more  than  three  weeks  ago  she  had  been  intoxi- 
cated with  the  sound  of  those  very  bells ;  and  in  the  gladness 
of  Florence  she  had  heard  a  prophecy  of  her  own  gladness. 
But  now  the  general  joy  seemed  cruel  to  her:  she  stood  aloof 
from  that  common  life,  —  that  Florence  which  was  flinging  out 
its  loud  exultation  to  stun  the  ears  of  sorrow  and  loneliness. 
She  could  never  join  hands  witii  gladness  again,  but  only  with 
those  whom  it  was  in  the  hard  nature  of  gladness  to  forget. 
And  in  her  bitterness  she  felt  that  all  rejoicing  was  mockery. 
Men  shouted  pa;ans  with  their  souls  full  of  heaviness,  and 
then  looked  in  their  neighbours'  faces  to  see  if  there  was  really 
such  a  thing  as  joy.  Romola  had  lost  her  belief  in  the  hap- 
piness she  had  once  thirsted  for :  it  was  a  hateful,  smiling, 
soft-handed  thing  with  a  narrow,  selfish  heart. 

She  ran  down  from  the  loggia,  with  her  hands  pressed 


ARIADNE   DISCROWNS   HERSELF  49 

against  her  ears,  and  was  hurrying  across  the  antechamber, 
when  she  was  startled  by  unexpectedly  meeting  her  husband, 
who  was  coming  to  seek  her. 

His  step  was  elastic,  and  there  was  a  radiance  of  satis- 
faction about  him  not  quite  usual. 

"  What !  the  noise  was  a  little  too  much  for  you  ?  "  he 
said ;  for  Romola,  as  she  started  at  the  sight  of  him,  had 
pressed  her  hands  all  the  closer  against  her  ears.  He  took 
her  gently  by  the  wrist,  and  drew  her  arm  within  his,  leading 
her  into  the  saloon  surrounded  with  the  dancing  nymphs  and 
fauns,  and  then  went  on  speaking  :  "  Florence  is  gone  quite 
mad  at  getting  its  Great  Council,  which  is  to  put  an  end  to  all 
the  evils  under  the  sun,  especially  to  the  vice  of  merriment. 
You  may  well  look  stunned,  my  Romola,  and  you  are  cold. 
You  must  not  stay  so  late  under  that  windy  loggia  without 
wrappings.  I  was  coming  to  tell  you  that  I  am  suddenly 
called  to  Home  about  some  learned  business  for  Bernardo 
Rucellai.  I  am  going  away  immediately,  for  I  am  to  join  my 
party  at  San  Gaggio  to-night,  that  we  may  start  early  in  the 
morning,  I  need  give  you  no  trouble ;  I  have  had  my  pack- 
ages made  already.  It  will  not  be  very  long  before  I  am 
back  again." 

He  knew  he  had  nothing  to  expect  from  her  but  quiet 
endurance  of  what  he  said  and  did.  He  could  not  even  ven- 
ture to  kiss  her  brow  this  evening,  but  just  pressed  her  hand 
to  his  lips,  and  left  her.  Tito  felt  that  Romola  was  a  more 
unforgiving  woman  than  he  had  imagined ;  her  love  was  not 
that  sweet  chnging  instinct,  stronger  than  all  judgments, 
which,  he  began  to  see  now,  made  the  great  charm  of  a  wife. 
Still,  this  petrified  coldness  was  better  than  a  passionate,  futile 
opposition.  Her  pride  and  capability  of  seeing  where  resist- 
ance was  useless  had  their  convenience. 

But  when  the  door  had  closed  on  Tito,  Romola  lost  the 


50  ROMOLA 

look  of  cold  immobility  which  came  over  her  like  an  inevitable 
frost  whenever  he  approached  her.  Inwardly  she  was  very  far 
from  being  in  a  state  of  quiet  endurance,  and  the  days  that 
had  passed  since  the  scene  which  had  divided  her  from  Tito 
had  been  days  of  active  planning  and  preparation  for  the 
fulfilment  of  a  purpose. 

The  first  thing  she  did  now  was  to  call  old  Maso  to  her. 

"Maso/'  she  said  in  a  decided  tone,  "  we  take  our  jour- 
ney to-morrow  morning.  We  shall  be  able  now  to  overtake 
that  first  convoy  of  cloth,  while  they  are  waiting  at  San 
Piero.  See  about  the  two  mules  to-night,  and  be  ready  to 
set  off  with  them  at  break  of  day,  and  wait  for  me  at 
Trespiano." 

She  meant  to  take  Maso  with  her  as  far  as  Bologna,  and 
then  send  him  back  with  letters  to  her  godfather  and  Tito,  tell- 
ing them  that  she  was  gone  and  never  meant  to  return.  She 
had  plaimed  her  departure  so  that  its  secrecy  might  be  perfect, 
and  her  broken  love  and  life  be  hidden  away  unscanned  by 
vulgar  eyes.  Bernardo  del  Nero  had  been  absent  at  his  villa, 
willing  to  escape  from  political  suspicions  to  his  favourite 
occupation  of  attending  to  his  land,  and  she  had  paid  him  the 
debt  without  a  personal  interview.  He  did  not  even  know 
that  the  library  was  sold,  and  was  left  to  conjecture  that 
some  sudden  piece  of  good  fortune  had  enabled  Tito  to  raise 
this  sum  of  money.  Maso  had  been  taken  into  her  confidence 
only  so  far  that  he  knew  her  intended  journey  was  a  secret ; 
and  to  do  just  what  she  told  him  was  the  thing  he  cared  most 
for  in  his  withered  wintry  age. 

Uomola  did  not  mean  to  go  to  bed  that  night.  When 
she  had  fastened  the  door,  she  took  her  taper  to  the  carved 
and  painted  chest  which  contained  her  wedding-clothes.  The 
white  silk  and  gold  lay  there,  the  long  white  veil  an.d  the 
circlet  of  pearls.     A  great  sob  rose  as  she  looked  at  them : 


ARIADNE   DISCROWNS   HERSELF  51 

they  seemed  the  shroud  of  her  dead  happiness.  In  a  tiny 
gold  loop  of  tlie  circlet  a  sugar- plum  had  lodged,  —  a  pink 
hailstone  from  the  shower  of  sweets  :  Tito  had  detected  it 
first,  and  had  said  that  it  should  always  remain  there.  At 
certain  moments  —  and  this  was  one  of  them  —  Romola  was 
carried,  by  a  sudden  wave  of  memory,  back  again  into  the 
time  of  perfect  trust,  and  felt  again  the  presence  of  the  hus- 
band whose  love  made  the  world  as  fresh  and  wonderful  to 
her  as  to  a  little  child  that  sits  in  stillness  among  the  sunny 
flowers :  heard  the  gentle  tones  and  saw  the  soft  eyes  with- 
out any  lie  in  them,  and  breathed  again  that  large  freedom 
of  the  soul  which  comes  from  the  faith  that  the  being  who 
is  nearest  to  us  is  greater  than  ourselves.  And  in  those 
brief  moments  the  tears  always  rose  :  the  woman's  lovingness 
felt  something  akin  to  what  the  bereaved  mother  feels  when 
the  tiny  fingers  seem  to  lie  warm  on  her  bosom,  and  yet  are 
marble  to  her  lips  as  she  bends  over  the  silent  bed. 

But  there  was  something  else  lying  in  the  chest  besides 
the  wedding- clothes :  it  was  something  dark  and  coarse, 
rolled  up  in  a  close  bundle.  She  turned  away  her  eyes  from 
the  white  and  gold  to  the  dark  bundle ;  and  as  her  hands 
touched  the  serge,  her  tears  began  to  be  checked.  That 
coarse  roughness  recalled  her  fully  to  the  present,  from  which 
love  and  delight  were  gone.  She  unfastened  the  thick  white 
cord,  and  spread  the  bundle  out  on  the  table.  It  was  the 
gray  serge  dress  of  a  sister  belonging  to  the  third  order  of 
St.  Francis,  living  in  the  world,  but  especially  devoted  to 
deeds  of  piety,  —  a  personage  whom  the  Florentines  were  ac- 
customed to  call  a  Pinzochera.  Romola  was  going  to  put 
on  this  dress  as  a  disguise ;  and  she  determined  to  put  it  on 
at  once,  so  that,  if  she  needed  sleep  before  the  morning,  she 
might  wake  up  in  perfect  readiness  to  be  gone.  She  put  off 
her  black  garment ;  and  as  she  thrust  her  soft  white  arms  into 


6^  ROMOLA 

the  harsh  sleeves  of  the  serge  mantle,  and  felt  the  hard  girdle 
of  rope  hurt  her  fingers  as  she  tied  it,  she  courted  those  rude 
sensations  :  they  were  in  keeping  with  her  new  seorn  of  that 
thing  called  pleasure  which  made  men  base,  —  that  dexterous 
contrivance  for  selfish  ease,  that  shrinking  from  endurance 
and  strain,  when  others  were  bowing  beneath  burdens  too 
heavy  for  them,  which  now  made  one  image  with  her  hus- 
band. Then  she  gathered  her  long  hair  together,  drew  it 
away  tight  from  her  face,  bound  it  in  a  great  hard  knot  at 
the  back  of  her  head,  and  taking  a  square  piece  of  black  silk, 
tied  it  in  the  fashion  of  a  kerchief  close  across  her  head  and 
under  her  chin ;  and  over  that  she  drew  the  cowl.  She  lifted  tlie 
candle  to  the  mirror.  Surely  her  disguise  would  be  complete 
to  any  one  who  had  not  lived  very  near  to  her.  To  herself 
she  looked  strangely  like  her  brother  Dino :  the  full  oval  of 
the  cheek  had  only  to  be  wasted ;  the  eyes,  already  sad,  had 
only  to  become  a  little  sunken.  Was  she  getting  more  like 
him  in  anything  else?  Only  in  this,  that  she  understood 
now  how  men  could  be  prompted  to  rush  away  forever  from 
earthly  delights,  how  they  could  be  prompted  to  dwell  on 
images  of  sorrow  rather  than  of  beauty  and  joy. 

But  she  did  not  linger  at  the  mirror :  she  set  about 
collecting  and  packing  all  the  relics  of  her  father  and  mother 
that  were  too  large  to  be  carried  in  her  small  travelling- 
wallet.  They  were  all  to  be  put  in  the  chest  along  with  her 
weddiiig-clothcs,  and  the  chest  was  to  be  committed  to  her 
godfather  when  she  was  safely  gone.  First  she  laid  in  the 
portraits ;  then  one  by  one  every  little  thing  that  had  a  sa- 
cred memory  clinging  to  it  was  put  into  her  wallet  or  into 
the  chest.  She  paused.  There  was  still  something  else  to 
be  stript  away  from  her,  belonging  to  that  past  on  which  she 
was  going  to  turn  her  back  forever.  She  put  her  thumb  and 
her  forefinger  to  her  betrothal  ring;  but  they  rested  there, 


ARIADNE   DISCROWNS   HERSELF  53 

without  drawing  it  off.  Eomola^s  mind  had  been  rushing 
with  an  impetuous  current  towards  this  act,  for  which  she 
was  preparing :  the  act  of  quitting  a  husband  who  had  dis- 
appointed all  her  trust,  the  act  of  breaking  an  outward  tic 
that  no  longer  represented  the  inward  bond  of  love.  But 
that  force  of  outward  symbols  by  which  our  active  life  is 
knit  together  so  as  to  make  an  inexorable  external  identity 
for  us,  not  to  be  shaken  by  our  wavering  consciousness,  gave 
a  strange  effect  to  this  simple  movement  towards  taking  off 
her  ring,  —  a  movement  which  was  but  a  small  sequence  of 
her  energetic  resolution.  It  brought  a  vague  but  arresting 
sense  that  she  was  somehow  violently  rending  her  life  in  two : 
a  presentiment  that  the  strong  impulse  which  had  seemed  to 
exclude  doubt  and  make  her  path  clear  might  after  all  be 
blindness,  and  that  there  was  something  in  human  bonds 
which  must  prevent  them  from  being  broken  with  the  break- 
ing of  illusions. 

If  that  beloved  Tito  who  had  placed  the  betrothal  ring 
on  her  finger  was  not  in  any  valid  sense  the  same  Tito  whom 
she  had  ceased  to  love,  why  should  she  return  to  him  the 
sign  of  their  union,  and  not  rather  retain  it  as  a  memorial  ? 
And  this  act,  which  came  as  a  palpable  demonstration  of  her 
own  and  his  identity,  had  a  power  unexplained  to  herself,  of 
shaking  Romola.  It  is  the  way  with  half  the  truth  amidst 
which  we  live,  that  it  only  haunts  us  and  makes  dull  pulsa- 
tions that  are  never  born  into  sound.  But  there  was  a  pas- 
sionate voice  speaking  within  her  that  presently  nullified  all 
such  muffled  murmurs. 

"  It  cannot  be !  I  cannot  be  subject  to  him.  He  is 
false.     I  shrink  from  him.     I  despise  him  !  " 

She  snatched  the  ring  from  her  finger,  and  laid  it  on 
the  table  against  the  pen  with  which  she  meant  to  write. 
Again  she  felt  that  there  could  be  no  law  for  her  but  the  law 


64  ROMOLA 

of  her  affections.  That  tenderness  ami  keen  fellow-feeling 
for  the  near  and  the  loved  which  are  the  main  outgrowth  of 
the  affections,  hud  made  the  religion  of  her  life :  they  had 
made  her  patient  in  spite  of  natural  impetuosity ;  they  would 
have  sufficed  to  make  her  heroic.  But  now  all  that  strength 
was  gone,  or,  rather,  it  was  converted  into  the  strength  of 
repulsion.  She  had  recoiled  from  Tito  in  proportion  to  the 
energy  of  that  young  belief  and  love  which  he  liad  disap- 
pointed, of  that  lifelong  devotion  to  her  father  against  which 
he  had  committed  an  irredeemable  offence.  And  it  seemed 
as  if  all  motive  had  slipped  away  from  her,  except  the  in- 
dignation and  scorn  that  made  her  tear  herself  asunder  from 
him. 

She  "was  not  actmg  after  any  precedent,  or  obeying  any 
adopted  maxims.  The  grand  severity  of  the  stoical  i)hilos- 
ophy  in  whicli  her  father  had  taken  care  to  instruct  her,  was 
familiar  enough  to  her  ears  and  hps,  and  its  lofty  spirit  had 
raised  certain  echoes  within  her ;  but  she  had  never  used  it, 
never  needed  it  as  a  rule  of  life.  She  had  endured  and  for- 
borne because  she  loved :  maxims  which  told  her  to  feel  less, 
and  not  to  cling  close  lest  the  onward  course  of  great  Nature 
should  jar  her,  had  been  as  powerless  on  her  tenderness  as 
they  had  been  on  her  father's  yearning  for  just  fame.  She 
had  appropriated  no  theories :  she  had  simply  felt  strong  in 
the  strength  of  affection,  and  life  without  that  energy  came 
to  her  as  an  entirely  new  problem. 

She  was  going  to  solve  the  problen  in  a  way  that 
seemed  to  her  very  simple.  Her  mind  had  never  yet  bowed 
to  any  obligation  apart  from  personal  love  and  reverence ; 
she  had  no  keen  sense  of  any  other  human  relations,  and  all 
she  had  to  obey  now  was  the  instinct  to  sever  herself  from 
the  man  she  loved  no  longer. 

.    Yet  the  unswerving  resolution  was  accompanied  with 


ARIADNE   DISCROWNS   HERSELF  55 

continually  varying  phases  of  anguish.  And  now  that  the 
active  preparation  for  her  departure  was  almost  finished,  she 
lingered :  she  deferred  writing  the  irrevocable  words  of  part- 
ing from  all  her  little  world.  The  emotions  of  the  past 
weeks  seemed  to  rush  in  again  with  cruel  hurry,  and  take 
possession  even  of  her  limbs.  She  was  going  to  write,  and 
her  hand  fell.  Bitter  tears  came  now  at  the  delusion  which 
had  blighted  her  young  years :  tears  very  different  from  the 
sob  of  remembered  happiness  with  which  she  had  looked  at 
the  circlet  of  pearls  and  the  pink  hailstone.  And  now  she 
felt  a  tingling  shame  at  the  words  of  ignominy  she  had  cast 
at  Tito,  — "  Have  you  robbed  some  one  else  who  is  not 
dead  ?  "  To  have  had  such  words  wrung  from  her,  to  have 
uttered  them  to  her  husband,  seemed  a  degradation  of  her 
whole  life.  Hard  speech  between  those  who  have  loved  is 
hideous  in  the  memory,  like  the  sight  of  greatness  and  beauty 
sunk  into  vice  and  rags. 

That  heart-cutting  comparison  of  the  present  with  the 
past  urged  itself  upon  Romola  till  it  even  transformed  itself 
into  wretched  sensations  :  she  seemed  benumbed  to  every- 
thing but  inward  throbbings,  and  began  to  feel  the  need  of 
some  hard  "contact.  She  drew  her  hands  tight  along  the 
harsh  knotted  cord  that  hung  from  her  waist.  She  started 
to  her  feet  and  seized  the  rough  lid  of  the  chest :  there  was 
nothing  else  to  go  in?  No.  She  closed  the  lid,  pressing 
her  hand  upon  the  rough  carving,  and  locked  it. 

Then  she  remembered  that  she  had  still  to  complete  her 
equipment  as  a  Pinzochera.  The  large  leather  purse  or  scar- 
sella,  with  small  coin  in  it,  had  to  be  hung  on  the  cord  at 
her  waist  (her  florins  and  small  jewels,  presents  from  her 
godfather  and  cousin  Brigida,  were  safely  fastened  within 
her  serge  mantle),  and  on  the  other  side  must  hang  the 
rosary. 


56  ROMOLA 

It  did  not  occur  to  Roraola,  as  she  hung  that  rosary  by 
her  side,  that  something  else  besides  the  mere  garb  would 
perhaps  be  necessary  to  enable  her  to  pass  as  a  Pinzochera, 
and  that  her  whole  air  and  expression  were  as  little  as  possi- 
ble like  those  of  a  sister  whose  eyelids  were  used  to  be  bent_, 
and  whose  lips  were  used  to  move  in  silent  iteration.  Her 
inexperience  prevented  her  from  picturing  distant  details,  and 
it  helped  her  proud  courage  in  shutting  out  any  foreboding 
of  danger  and  insult.  She  did  not  know  that  any  Florentine 
woman  had  ever  done  exactly  what  she  was  going  to  do  : 
unhappy  wives  often  took  refuge  with  their  friends  or  in 
the  cloister,  she  knew,  but  both  those  courses  were  impossible 
to  her ;  she  had  invented  a  lot  for  herself,  —  to  go  to  the 
most  learned  woman  in  the  world,  Cassandra  Fedele,  at 
Yenice,  and  ask  her  how  an  instructed  woman  could  support 
herself  in  a  lonely  life  there. 

She  was  not  daunted  by  the  practical  difficulties  in  the 
way  or  the  dark  uncertainty  at  the  end.  Her  life  could 
never  be  happy  any  more,  but  it  must  not,  could  not,  be 
ignoble.  And  by  a  pathetic  mixture  of  childish  romance  with 
her  woman's  trials,  the  philosophy  which  had  nothing  to  do 
with  this  great  decisive  deed  of  hers  had  its  place  in  her 
imagination  of  the  future  :  so  far  as  she  conceived  her  soli- 
tary loveless  life  at  all,  she  saw  it  animated  by  a  proud 
stoical  heroism,  and  by  an  indistinct  but  strong  purpose  of 
labour,  that  she  might  be  wise  enough  to  write  something 
which  would  rescue  her  father's  name  from  oblivion.  After 
all,  she  was  only  a  young  girl,  —  this  poor  Romola,  who  had 
found  herseK  at  the  end  of  her  joys. 

There  were  other  things  yet  to  be  done.  There  was 
a  small  key  in  a  casket  on  the  table,  —  but  now  Pvomola  per- 
ceived that  her  taper  was  dying  out,  and  she  had  forgotten 
to  provide  herself  with  any  other  light.     In  a  few  moments 


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ARIADNE   DISCROWNS   HERSELF  57 

the  room  was  in  total  darkness.  Feeling  her  way  to  the 
nearest  chair,  she  sat  down  to  wait  for  the  morning. 

Her  purpose  in  seeking  the  key  had  called  up  certain 
memories  which  had  come  back  upon  her  during  the  past 
week  with  the  new  vividness  that  remembered  words  always 
have  for  us  when  we  have  learned  to  give  them  a  new  menn- 
ing.  Since  the  shock  of  the  revelation  which  had  seemed  to 
divide  her  forever  from  Tito,  that  last  interview  with  Dino 
had  never  been  for  many  hours  together  out  of  her  mind. 
And  it  solicited  her  all  the  more  because  while  its  remembered 
images  pressed  upon  her  almost  with  the  imperious  force  of 
sensations,  they  raised  struggling  thoughts  which  resisted 
their  influence.  She  could  not  prevent  herself  from  hearing 
inwardly  the  dying  prophetic  voice  saying  again  and  again : 
"  The  man  whose  face  was  a  blank  loosed  thy  hand  and  de- 
parted ;  and  as  he  went,  I  could  see  his  face,  and  it  was  the 
face  of  the  great  Tempter.  .  .  .  And  thou,  Romola,  didst 
wring  thy  hands  and  seek  for  water,  and  there  was  none  .  .  . 
and  the  plain  was  bare  and  stony  again,  and  thou  wast  alone 
in  the  midst  of  it.  And  then  it  seemed  that  the  night  fell, 
and  I  saw  no  more.^^  She  could  not  prevent  herself  from 
dwelling  with  a  sort  of  agonized  fascmation  on  the  wasted 
face,  on  the  straining  gaze  at  the  crucifix,  on  the  awe  which 
had  compelled  her  to  kneel,  on  the  last  broken  words, 
and  then  the  unbroken  silence,  —  on  all  the  details  of  the 
death-scene,  which  had  seemed  like  a  sudden  opening  into 
a  world  apart  from  that  of  her  life-long  knowledge. 

But  her  mind  was  roused  to  resistance  of  impressions  that, 
from  being  obvious  phantoms,  seemed  to  be  getting  solid  in 
the  daylight.  As  a  strong  body  struggles  against  fumes 
with  the  more  violence  when  they  begin  to  be  stifling,  a  strong 
soul  struggles  against  phantasies  with  all  the  more  alarmed 
energy  when  they  threaten  to  govern  in  the  place  of  thought. 


58  ROMOLA 

What  had  the  words  of  that  vision  to  do  with  her  real 
sorrows  ?  That  fitting  of  certain  words  was  a  mere  chance ; 
tlie  rest  was  all  vague,  —  nay,  those  words  themselves  were 
vague ;  they  were  determined  by  nothing  but  her  brother's 
memories  and  beliefs,  lie  believed  there  was  something  fatal 
in  pagan  learning ;  he  believed  that  celibacy  was  more  holy 
than  marriage ;  he  remembered  their  home,  and  all  the  objects 
in  the  library ;  and  of  these  threads  the  vision  was  woven. 
What  reasonable  warrant  could  she  have  had  for  believing  in 
such  a  vision  and  acting  on  it  ?  None.  True  as  the  voice  of 
foreboding  had  proved,  Eomola  saw  with  unshaken  conviction 
that  to  have  renounced  Tito  in  obedience  to  a  warning  like 
that  would  have  been  meagre-hearted  folly.  Her  trust  had 
been  delusive,  but  she  would  have  chosen  over  again  to  have 
acted  on  it  rather  than  be  a  creature  led  by  phantoms  and 
disjointed  whispers  in  a  world  where  there  was  the  large 
music  of  reasonable  speech,  and  the  warm  grasp  of  living 
hands. 

But  the  persistent  presence  of  these  memories,  linking 
themselves  in  her  imagination  with  her  actual  lot,  gave  her 
a  glimpse  of  understanding  into  the  lives  which  had  before 
lain  utterly  aloof  from  her  sympathy,  —  the  lives  of  the 
men  and  women  who  were  led  by  such  inward  images  and 
voices. 

"  If  they  were  only  a  little  stronger  in  me,''  she  said  to 
herself,  "  I  should  lose  the  sense  of  what  that  vision  really 
was,  and  take  it  for  a  prophetic  light.  I  might  in  time  get 
to  be  a  seer  of  visions  myself,  like  the  Suora  Maddalena,  and 
Camilla  Eucellai,  and  the  rest." 

Eomola  shuddered  at  the  possibility.  All  the  instruc- 
tion, all  the  main  influences  of  her  life  had  gone  to  fortify  her 
scorn  of  that  sickly  superstition  which  led  men  and  women, 
with  eyes  too  weak  for  the  daylight,  to  sit  in  dark  swamps  and 


ARIADNE   DISCROWNS   HERSELF  59 

try  to  read  human  destiny  by  the  chance  flame  of  wandering 
vapours. 

And  yet  she  was  conscious  of  something  deeper  tlian  that 
coincidence  of  words  which  made  the  parting  contact  with  her 
dying  brother  live  anew  in  her  mind,  and  gave  a  new  sister- 
hood to  the  wasted  face.  If  there  were  much  more  of  such 
experience  as  his  in  the  world,  she  would  like  to  understand 
it,  —  would  even  like  to  learn  the  thoughts  of  men  who  sank 
in  ecstasy  before  the  pictured  agonies  of  martyrdom.  There 
seemed  to  be  something  more  than  madness  in  that  supreme 
fellowship  with  sufli'ering.  The  springs  were  all  dried  up 
around  her ;  she  wondered  what  other  waters  there  were  at 
which  men  drank  and  found  strength  in  the  desert.  And 
those  moments  in  the  Duomo  when  slie  had  sobbed  with  a 
mysterious  mingling  of  rapture  and  pain,  while  Era  Girolamo 
offered  himself  a  willing  sacrifice  for  the  people,  came  back  to 
her  as  if  they  had  been  a  transient  taste  of  some  such  far-off 
fountain.  But  again  she  shrank  from  impressions  that  were 
alluring  her  within  the  sphere  of  visions  and  narrow  fears 
which  compelled  men  to  outrage  natural  afiections  as  Diuo 
had  done. 

This  was  the  tangled  web  that  Eomola  had  in  her  mind 
as  she  sat  weary  in  the  darkness.  No  radiant  angel  came 
across  the  gloom  with  a  clear  message  for  her.  In  those 
times,  as  now,  there  were  human  beings  who  never  saw  angels 
or  heard  perfectly  clear  messages.  Such  truth  as  came  to 
them  was  brought  confusedly  in  the  voices  and  deeds  of  men 
not  at  all  like  the  seraphs  of  unfailing  wing  and  piercing 
vision,  —  men  who  believed  falsities  as  well  as  truths,  and  did 
the  wrong  as  well  as  the  right.  The  helping  hands  stretched 
out  to  them  were  the  hands  of  men  who  stumbled  and  often 
saw  dimly,  so  that  these  beings  unvisited  by  angels  had  no 
other  choice  than  to  grasp  that  stumbling  guidance  along  the 


60  ROMOLA 

path  of  reliance  and  action  wliich  is  tlic  patli  of  life,  or  else 
to  pause  in  loneliness  and  disbelief,  which  is  no  path,  but  the 
arrest  of  inaction  and  death. 

And  so  Romola,  seeing  no  ray  across  the  darkness,  and 
heavy  with  conflict  that  changed  nothing,  sank  at  last  to 
sleep. 


The  Faun,  by  Michelangelo, 
now  in  the  Bargello 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    TABERNACLE    UNLOCKED 

ROMOLA  was  waked  by  a  tap  at  the  door.  The  cold 
light  of  early  morning  was  in  the  room,  and  Maso 
was  come  for  the  travelling-wallet.  The  old  man 
could  not  help  starting  when  she  opened  the  door,  and  showed 
him,  instead  of  the  graceful  outline  he  had  been  used  to, 
crowned  with  the  brightness  of  her  hair,  the  thick  folds  of 
the  gray  mantle  and  the  pale  face  shadowed  by  the  dark 
cowl. 

"  It  is  well,  Maso,^'  said  Eomola,  trying  to  speak  in  the 
calmest  voice,  and  make  the  old  man  easy.  "  Here  is  the 
wallet  quite  ready.  You  will  go  on  quietly,  and  I  shall  not 
be  far  behind  you.  When  you  get  out  of  the  gates  you  may 
go  more  slowly,  for  I  shall  perhaps  join  you  before  you  get  to 
Trespiano." 

She  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  then  put  lier  hand 
on  the  key  which  she  had  taken  from  the  casket  the  last  thing 
in  the  night.  It  was  the  original  key  of  the  little  painted 
tabernacle  :  Tito  had  forgotten  to  drown  it  in  the  Arno,  and 
it  had  lodged,  as  such  small  things  will,  in  the  corner  of  the 
embroidered  scarsella  whicli  he  wore  with  the  purple  tunic. 
One  day,  long  after  their  marriage,  Romola  had  found  it  there, 
and  had  put  it  by  without  using  it,  but  with  a  sense  of  satis- 
faction that  the  key  was  within  reach.  The  cabinet  on  which 
the  tabernacle  stood  had  been  moved  to  the  side  of  the  room, 
close  to  one  of  the  windows,  where  the  pale  morning  light  fell 


62  ROMOLA 

upon  it  so  as  to  make  the  painted  forms  discernible  enough  to 
Romola,  who  knew  them  well,  —  the  triumphant  Bacchus, 
with  his  clusters  and  his  vine-clad  spear,  clasping  the  crowned 
Ariadne ;  the  Loves  showering  roses,  the  wreathed  vessel,  the 
cunning-eyed  dolphins,  and  the  rippled  sea :  all  encircled  by 
a  flowery  border,  like  a  bower  of  paradise.  Romola  looked 
at  the  familiar  images  with  new  bitterness  and  repulsion  :  they 
seemed  a  more  pitiable  mockery  than  ever  on  this  chill  morn- 
ing, when  she  had  waked  up  to  wander  in  loneliness.  They 
had  been  no  tomb  of  sorrow,  but  a  lying  screen.  Poolish 
Ariadne  !  with  her  gaze  of  love,  as  if  that  bright  face,  with 
its  hyacinthine  curls  like  tendrils  among  the  vines,  held  the 
deep  secret  of  her  life  ! 

"  Ariadne  is  wonderfully  transformed,"  thought  Rom- 
ola.  "  She  would  look  strange  among  the  vines  and  the 
roses  now." 

She  took  up  the  mirror,  and  looked  at  herself  once  more. 
But  the  sight  was  so  startling  in  this  morning  light  that  she 
laid  it  down  again,  with  a  sense  of  shrinking  almost  as  strong 
as  that  with  which  she  had  turned  from  the  joyous  Ariadne. 
The  recognition  of  her  own  face,  with  the  cowl  about  it, 
brought  back  the  dread  lest  she  should  be  drawn  at  last  into 
fellowship  with  some  wretched  superstition,  —  into  the  com- 
pany of  the  howling  fanatics  and  weeping  nuns,  who  had 
been  her  contempt  from  childhood  till  now.  She  thrust  the 
key  into  the  tabernacle  hurriedly  :  hurriedly  she  opened  it, 
and  took  out  the  crucifix,  without  looking  at  it ;  then,  with 
trembling  fingers,  she  passed  a  cord  through  the  little  ring, 
hung  the  crucifix  round  her  neck,  and  hid  it  in  the  bosom  of 
her  mantle.     "  For  Dino's  sake,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Still  there  were  the  letters  to  be  written  which  Maso  was 
to  carry  back  from  Bologna.  They  were  very  brief.  The 
first  said, — 


THE  TABERNACLE  UNLOCKED     63 

"Tito,  my  love  for  you  is  dead  ;  and  therefore,  so  far  as  I  was 
yours,  I  too  am  dead.  Do  not  try  to  put  in  force  any  laws  for  the 
sake  of  fetching  me  back :  that  would  bring  you  no  happiness. 
The  Romola  you  married  can  never  return.  T  need  explain  noth- 
ing to  you  after  the  words  I  uttered  to  you  the  last  time  we  spoke 
long  together.  If  you  supposed  them  to  be  words  of  transient 
anger,  you  will  know  now  that  they  were  the  sign  of  an  irreversible 
change. 

"  I  think  you  will  fulfil  my  wish  that  my  bridal  chest  should  be 
sent  to  my  godfather,  who  gave  it  me.  It  contains  my  wedding- 
clothes  and  the  portraits  and  other  relics  of  my  father  and  mother." 

She  folded  the  ring  inside  this  letter,  and  wrote  Tito's 
name  outside.     The  next  letter  was  to  Bernardo  del  Nero  :  — 

Dearest  Godfather,  —  K  I  could  have  been  any  good  to 
your  life  by  staying,  I  would  not  have  gone  away  to  a  distance. 
But  now  I  am  gone.  Do  not  ask  the  reason  ;  and  if  you  love  my 
father,  try  to  prevent  any  one  from  seeking  me.  I  could  not  bear 
my  life  at  Florence.  I  cannot  bear  to  tell  any  one  why.  Help  to 
cover  my  lot  in  silence.  I  have  asked  that  my  bridal  chest  should 
be  sent  to  you ;  when  you  open  it,  you  wiU  know  the  reason. 
Please  to  give  all  the  things  that  were  my  mother's  to  my  cousin 
Brigida,  and  ask  her  to  forgive  me  for  not  saying  any  words  of 
parting  to  her. 

Farewell,  my  second  father.  The  best  thing  I  have  in  life  is 
still  to  remember  your  goodness  and  be  grateful  to  you. 

KOMOLA. 

Eomola  put  the  letters,  along  with  the  crucifix,  within 
the  bosom  of  her  mantle,  and  then  felt  that  everything  was 
done.     She  was  ready  now  to  depart. 

No  one  was  stirring  in  the  house,  and  she  went  almost 
as  quietly  as  a  gray  phantom  down  the  stairs  and  into  the 
silent  street.  Her  heart  was  palpitating  violently,  yet  she 
enjoyed  the  sense  of  her  firm  tread  on  the  broad  flags,  —  of 


64.  ROMOLA 

the  swift  movement,  which  was  like  a  chained-up  resolution 
set  free  at  last.  The  anxiety  to  carry  out  her  act,  and  the 
dread  of  any  obstacle,  averted  sorrow ;  and  as  she  reached 
tlie  Pontc  Ilubaconte,  she  felt  less  that  Santa  Croce  was  in 
her  sight  than  that  the  yellow  streak  of  morning  which  parted 
the  gray  was  getting  broader  and  broader,  and  that,  unless 
she  hastened  her  steps,  she  should  have  to  encounter  faces. 

Her  simplest  road  was  to  go  right  on  to  the  Borgo  Pinti, 
and  then  along  by  the  walls  to  the  Porta  San  Gallo,  from 
which  she  must  leave  the  city ;  and  this  road  carried  her  by 
the  Piazza  di  Santa  Croce.  But  she  walked  as  steadily  and 
rapidly  as  ever  through  the  piazza,  not  trusting  herself  to 
look  towards  the  church.  The  thought  that  any  eyes  might 
be  turned  on  her  with  a  look  of  curiosity  and  recognition, 
and  that  indifferent  minds  might  be  set  speculating  on  her 
private  sorrows,  made  Romola  shrink  physically  as  from  the 
imagination  of  torture.  She  felt  degraded  oven  by  that  act 
of  her  husband  from  which  she  was  helplessly  suffering.  But 
there  was  no  sign  that  any  eyes  looked  forth  from  win- 
dows to  notice  this  tall  gray  sister,  with  the  firm  step,  and 
proud  attitude  of  the  cowled  head.  Her  road  lay  aloof 
from  the  stir  of  early  traffic;  and  when  she  reached  the 
Porta  San  Gallo,  it  was  easy  to  pass  while  a  dispute  was 
going  forward  about  the  toll  for  panniers  of  eggs  and  market 
produce  which  were  just  entering. 

Out !  Once  past  tlie  liouscs  of  the  Borgo,  she  would  be 
beyond  the  last  fringe  of  Florence,  the  sky  would  be  broad 
above  her,  and  she  would  have  entered  on  her  new  life,  —  a 
life  of  loneliness  and  endurance,  but  of  freedom.  She  had 
been  strong  enough  to  snap  asunder  the  bonds  she  had  ac- 
cepted in  blind  faith  :  whatever  befell  her,  she  would  no 
more  feel  the  breath  of  soft  hated  lips  warm  upon  her  cheek, 
no  longer  feel  the  breath  of  an  odious  mind  stifling  her  own. 


THE  TABERNACLE  UNLOCKED     65 

The  bare  wintry  morning,  the  chill  air,  were  welcome  in 
their  severity :  the  leafless  trees,  the  sombre  hills,  were  not 
haunted  by  the  gods  of  beauty  and  joy,  whose  worship  she 
had  forsaken  forever. 

But  presently  the  light  burst  forth  with  sudden  strength, 
and  shadows  were  thrown  across  the  road.  It  seemed  that 
the  sun  was  going  to  chase  away  the  grayness.  The  light  is 
perhaps  never  felt  more  strongly  as  a  divine  presence  stirring 
all  those  inarticulate  sensibilities  which  are  our  deepest  life, 
than  in  these  moments  when  it  instantaneously  awakens  the 
shadows.  A  certain  awe  which  inevitably  accompanied  this 
most  momentous  act  of  her  life  became  a  more  conscious 
element  in  Romola^s  feeling  as  she  found  herself  in  the 
sudden  presence  of  the  impalpable  golden  glory  and  the 
long  shadow  of  herself  that  was  not  to  be  escaped.  Hitherto 
she  had  met  no  one  but  an  occasional  contadino  with  mules, 
and  the  many  turnings  of  the  road  on  the  level  prevented  her 
from  seeing  that  Maso  was  not  very  far  ahead  of  her.  But 
when  she  had  passed  Pietra  and  was  on  rising  ground,  she 
lifted  up  the  hanging  roof  of  her  cowl  and  looked  eagerly 
before  her. 

The  cowl  was  dropped  again  immediately.  She  had  seen, 
not  Maso,  but  —  two  monks,  who  were  approaching  within  a 
few  yards  of  her.  The  edge  of  her  cowl  making  a  pent-house 
on  her  brow  had  shut  out  the  objects  above  the  level  of  her 
eyes,  and  for  the  last  few  moments  she  had  been  looking  at 
nothing  but  the  brightness  on  the  path  and  at  her  own  shadow 
tall  and  shrouded  like  a  dread  spectre. 

She  wished  now  that  she  had  not  looked  up.  Her  dis- 
guise made  her  especially  dishke  to  encounter  monks  :  they 
might  expect  some  pious  pass-words  of  which  she  knew 
nothing,  and  she  walked  along  with  a  carcfid  appearance  of 
unconsciousness  till  she  had  seen  the  skirts    of  the  black 

VOL.   II.  —  S 


66  ROMOLA 

mantles  pass  by  her.  The  encounter  had  made  her  heart  beat 
disagreeably,  for  Romola  had  an  uneasiness  in  her  religious 
disguise,  a  shame  at  this  studied  concealment,  which  was 
made  more  distinct  by  a  special  effort  to  appear  unconscious 
under  actual  glances. 

But  the  black  skirts  would  be  gone  the  faster  because 
they  were  going  down-hill;  and  seeing  a  great  flat  stone 
against  a  cypress  that  rose  from  a  projecting  green  bank,  she 
yielded  to  the  desire  which  the  slight  shock  had  given  her,  to 
sit  down  and  rest. 

She  turned  her  back  on  Florence,  not  meaning  to  look 
at  it  till  the  monks  were  quite  out  of  sight ;  and  raising  the 
edge  of  her  cowl  again  when  she  had  seated  herself,  she  dis- 
cerned Maso  and  the  mules  at  a  distance  where  it  was  not 
hopeless  for  her  to  overtake  them,  as  the  old  man  would 
probably  linger  in  expectation  of  her. 

Meanwhile  she  might  pause  a  little.  She  was  free  and 
alone. 


''^>  "i 


CHAPTER  XVin 

THE   BLACK   MARKS   BECOME   MAGICAL 

THAT  journey  of  Tito^s  to  Rome,  which  had  removed 
many  difficulties  from  Romola's  departure,  had  been 
resolved   on   quite   suddenly,  at  a  supper,  only  the 
evemng  before. 

Tito  had  set  out  towards  that  supper  with  agreeable  ex- 
pectations. The  meats  were  likely  to  be  delicate,  the  wines 
choice,  the  company  distinguished ;  for  the  place  of  entertain- 
ment was  the  Selva  or  Orto  de'  Rucellai,  or,  as  we  should  say, 
the  Rucellai  Gardens ;  and  the  host,  Bernardo  Rucellai,  was 
quite  a  typical  Florentine  grandee.  Even  his  family  name 
has  a  significance  which  is  prettily  symbolic  :  properly  under- 
stood, it  may  bring  before  us  a  little  lichen,  popularly  named 
orcella  or  roccella,  which  grows  on  the  rocks  of  Greek  isles 
and  in  the  Canaries,  and  having  drunk  a  great  deal  of  light 
into  its  little  stems  and  button-heads,  will,  under  certain  cir- 
cumstances, give  it  out  again  as  a  reddish  purple  dye,  very 
grateful  to  the  eyes  of  men.  By  bringing  the  excellent  secret 
of  this  dye,  called  oricello,  from  the  Levant  to  Florence,  a 
certain  merchant,  who  lived  nearly  a  hundred  years  before  our 
Bernardo^s  time,  won  for  himself  and  liis  descendants  much 
wealth,  and  the  pleasantly  suggestive  surname  of  Oricellari 
or  Roccellari,  which  on  Tuscan  tongues  speedily  became 
Rucellai. 

And  our  Bernardo,  who  stands  out  more  prominently 
than  the  rest  on  this  purple  background,  had  added  all  sorts 
of  distmction  to  the  family  name  :  he  had  married  the  sister 


68  ROMOLA 

of  Lorenzo  de^  Medici,  and  had  had  the  most  splendid  wedding 
in  the  memory  of  Florentine  upholstery ;  and  for  these  and 
other  virtues  he  had  been  sent  on  embassies  to  France  and 
Venice,  and  had  been  chosen  Gonfaloniere ;  he  had  not  only 
built  himself  a  jBne  palace,  but  had  finished  putting  the  black 
and  wliite  marble  facade  to  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  No- 
vella ;  he  had  planted  a  garden  with  rare  trees,  and  had  made 
it  classic  ground  by  receiving  within  it  the  meetings  of  the 
Platonic  Academy,  orphaned  by  the  death  of  Lorenzo ;  he 
had  written  an  excellent,  learned  book,  of  a  new  topographical 
sort,  about  ancient  Rome ;  he  had  collected  antiquities ;  he 
had  a  pure  Latinity.  The  simplest  account  of  him,  one  sees, 
reads  like  a  laudatory  epitaph  at  the  end  of  which  the  Greek 
and  Ausonian  Muses  might  be  confidently  requested  to  tear 
their  hair,  and  Nature  to  desist  from  any  second  attempt  to 
combine  so  many  virtues  with  one  set  of  viscera. 

His  invitation  had  been  conveyed  to  Tito  through  Lorenzo 
Tornabuoni,  with  an  emphasis  which  would  have  suggested 
that  the  object  of  the  gathering  was  political,  even  if  the 
public  questions  of  the  time  had  been  less  absorbing.  As  it 
w^as,  Tito  felt  sure  that  some  party  purposes  were  to  be  fur- 
thered by  the  excellent  flavours  of  stewed  fish  and  old  Greek 
wine;  for  Bernardo  Eucellai  was  not  simply  an  influential 
personage,  he  was  one  of  the  elect  Twenty  who  for  three 
weeks  had  held  the  reins  of  Florence.  This  assurance  put 
Tito  in  the  best  spirits  as  he  made  his  way  to  the  Via  della 
Scala,  where  the  classic  garden  was  to  be  found  :  without  it, 
he  might  have  had  some  uneasy  speculation  as  to  whether  the 
high  company  he  would  have  the  honour  of  meeting  was  likely 
to  be  dull  as  well  as  distinguished ;  for  he  had  had  experience 
of  various  dull  suppers  even  in  the  Eucellai  gardens,  and  es- 
pecially of  the  dull  philosophic  sort,  wherein  he  had  not  only 
been  called  upon  to  accept  an  entire  scheme  of  the  universe 


THE   BLACK   MARKS   BECOME   MAGICAL    69 

(which  woulJ  have  been  easy  to  him),  but  to  listen  to  an 
exposition  of  the  same,  from  the  origin  of  things  to  their 
complete  ripeness  in  the  tractate  of  the  philosopher  then 
speaking. 

It  was  a  dark  evening,  and  it  was  only  when  Tito 
crossed  the  occasional  light  of  a  lamp  suspended  before  an 
image  of  tlie  Yirgin,  that  the  outline  of  his  figure  was  dis- 
cernible enough  for  recognition.  At  such  moments  any  one 
caring  to  watch  liis  passage  from  one  of  these  lights  to 
another  might  have  observed  that  the  tall  and  graceful  per- 
sonage with  the  mantle  folded  round  him  was  followed  con- 
stantly by  a  very  different  form,  thick-set  and  elderly,  in  a 
serge  tunic  and  felt  hat.  The  conjunction  might  have  been 
taken  for  mere  chance,  since  there  were  many  passengers 
along  the  streets  at  this  hour.  But  when  Tito  stopped  at  the 
gate  of  the  Rucellai  gardens,  the  figure  behind  stopped  too. 
The  sportello,  or  smaller  door  of  the  gate,  was  already  being 
held  open  by  the  servant,  who  in  the  distraction  of  attending 
to  some  question  had  not  yet  closed  it  since  the  last  arrival, 
and  Tito  turned  in  rapidly,  giving  his  name  to  the  servant, 
and  passing  on  between  the  evergreen  bushes  that  shone  like 
metal  in  the  torchlight.     The  follower  turned  in  too. 

"  Your  name  ?  "  said  the  servant. 

"  Baldassarre  Calvo,"  was  the  immediate  answer. 

"  You  are  not  a  guest ;  the  guests  have  all  passed." 

"  I  belong  to  Tito  Melema,  who  has  just  gone  in.  I  am 
to  wait  in  the  gardens." 

The  servant  hesitated.  "I  had  orders  to  admit  only 
guests.     Are  you  a  servant  of  Messer  Tito  ?  " 

"No,  friend,  I  am  not  a  servant;  I  am  a  scholar," 

There  are  men  to  whom  you  need  only  say, "  I  am  a 
buffalo,"  in  a  certain  tone  of  quiet  confidence,  and  they  will 
let   you  pass.     The  porter  gave  way  at  once,  Baldassarre 


70  ROMOLA 

entered,  and  heard  the  door  closed  and  chained  behind  him, 
as  he  too  disappeared  among  the  shining  bushes. 

Those  ready  and  firm  answers  argued  a  great  change  in 
Baldassarre  since  the  List  meeting  face  to  face  with  Tito, 
when  the  dagger  broke  in  two.  The  change  had  declared 
itself  in  a  startling  way. 

At  the  moment  when  the  shadow  of  Tito  passed  in  front 
of  the  hovel  as  he  departed  homeward,  Baldassarre  was  sitting 
in  that  state  of  after-tremor  known  to  every  one  who  is  liable 
to  great  outbursts  of  passion,  —  a  state  in  which  physical 
powerlessness  is  sometimes  accompanied  by  an  exceptional 
lucidity  of  thought,  as  if  that  disengagement  of  excited  passion 
had  carried  away  a  fire-mist  and  left  clearness  behind  it.  He 
felt  unable  to  rise  and  walk  away  just  yet;  his  limbs  seemed 
benumbed ;  he  was  cold,  and  his  hands  shook.  But  in  that 
bodily  helplessness  he  sat  surrounded,  not  by  the  habitual 
dimness  and  vanishing  shadows,  but  by  the  clear  images  of 
the  past  j  he  was  living  again  in  an  unbroken  course  through 
that  life  which  seemed  a  long  preparation  for  the  taste  of 
bitterness. 

For  some  minutes  he  was  too  thoroughly  absorbed  by 
the  images  to  reflect  on  the  fact  that  he  saw  them,  and  note 
the  fact  as  a  change.  But  when  that  sudden  clearness  had 
travelled  through  the  distance,  and  came  at  last  to  rest 
on  the  scene  just  gone  by,  he  felt  fully  where  he  was :  he 
remembered  Monna  Lisa  and  Tessa.  Ah  !  he  then  was  the 
mysterious  husband;  he  who  had  another  wife  in  Yia  de' 
Bardi.  It  was  time  to  pick  up  the  broken  dagger  and  go,  — 
go  and  leave  no  trace  of  himself;  for  to  hide  his  feebleness 
seemed  the  thing  most  like  power  that  was  left  to  him.  He 
leaned  to  take  up  the  fragments  of  the  dagger;  then  he 
turned  towards  the  book  which  lay  open  at  his  side.  It  was 
a  fine  large  manuscript,  an  odd  volume  of  Pausanias.     The 


^  H 


99 

n  ^ 


THE   BLACK  MARKS   BECOME   MAGICAL    71 

moonlight  was  upon  it,  and  lie  could  sec  the  large  letters  at 
the  head  of  the  page  : 

MESEHNIKA.    KB'. 

In  old  days  he  had  known  Pausanias  familiarly ;  yet  an  hour 
or  two  ago  he  had  been  looking  hopelessly  at  that  page,  and 
it  had  suggested  no  more  meaning  to  him  than  if  the  letters 
had  been  black  weather-marks  on  a  wall;  but  at  this  mo- 
ment they  were  once  more  the  magic  signs  that  conjure  up 
a  world.  That  moonbeam  falling  on  the  letters  had  raised 
Messenia  before  him,  and  its  struggle  against  the  Spartan 
oppression. 

He  snatched  up  the  book,  but  the  light  was  too  pale  for 
him  to  read  further  by.  No  matter :  he  knew  that  chap- 
ter; he  read  inwardly.  He  saw  the  stoning  of  the  traitor 
Aristocrates,  —  stoned  by  a  whole  people,  who  cast  him  out 
from  their  borders  to  lie  unburied,  and  set  up  a  pillar  with 
verses  upon  it  telling  how  Time  had  brought  home  justice  to 
the  unjust.  The  words  arose  within  him,  and  stirred  innu- 
merable vibrations  of  memory.  He  forgot  that  he  was  old : 
he  could  almost  have  shouted.  The  light  was  come  again, 
mother  of  knowledge  and  joy  !  In  that  exultation  his  limbs 
recovered  their  strength :  he  started  up  with  his  broken  dag- 
ger and  book,  and  went  out  under  the  broad  moonlight. 

It  was  a  nipping  frosty  air,  but  Baldassarre  could  feel 
no  chill,  — •  he  only  felt  the  glow  of  conscious  power.  He 
walked  about  and  paused  on  all  the  open  spots  of  that  high 
ground,  and  looked  down  on  the  domed  and  towered  city 
sleeping  darkly  under  its  sleeping  guardians  the  mountains, 
on  the  pale  gleam  of  the  river,  on  the  valley  vanishing 
towards  the  peaks  of  snow ;  and  felt  himself  master  of 
them  all. 

That  sense  of  mental  empire  which  belongs  to  us  all  in 


72  ROMOLA 

moments  of  exceptional  cleariiesss  was  intensified  for  liim  by 
the  long  days  and  nights  in  which  memory  had  been  little 
more  than  the  consciousness  of  something  gone.  That  city, 
which  had  been  a  weary  labyrinth,  was  material  that  he  could 
subdue  to  his  purposes  now :  his  mind  glanced  througli  its 
affairs  with  flashing  conjecture ;  he  was  once  more  a  man  who 
knew  cities,  whose  sense  of  vision  was  instructed  with  large 
experience,  and  who  felt  the  keen  delight  of  holding  all 
things  in  the  grasp  of  language.  Names  !  Images  !  —  his 
mind  rushed  through  its  wealth  without  pausing,  like  one 
who  enters  on  a  great  inheritance. 

But  amidst  all  that  rushing  eagerness  there  was  one 
End  presiding  in  Baldassarre^s  consciousness,  —  a  dark  deity 
in  the  inmost  cell,  who  only  seemed  forgotten  while  his 
hecatomb  was  being  prepared.  And  when  the  first  triumph 
in  the  certainty  of  recovered  power  had  had  its  way,  his 
thoughts  centered  themselves  on  Tito.  That  fair  slippery 
viper  could  not  escape  bim  now;  thanks  to  struggling  jus- 
tice, the  heart  that  never  quivered  with  tenderness  for  an- 
other had  its  sensitive  selfish  fibres  that  could  be  reached 
by  the  sharp  point  of  anguish.  The  soul  that  bowed  to 
no  right  bowed  to  the  great  lord  of  mortals.  Pain. 

He  could  search  into  every  secret  of  Tito^s  life  now :  he 
knew  some  of  the  secrets  already,  and  the  failure  of  the  broken 
dagger,  which  seemed  like  frustration,  had  been  the  beginning 
of  achievement.  Doubtless  that  sudden  rage  had  shaken  away 
the  obstruction  which  stifled  his  soul.  Twice  before,  when  his 
memory  had  partially  returned,  it  had  been  in  consequence  of 
sudden  excitation,  —  once  when  he  had  had  to  defend  himself 
from  an  enraged  dog ;  once  when  he  had  been  overtaken  by 
the  waves,  and  had  had  to  scramble  up  a  rock  to  save  himself. 

Yes ;  but  if  this  time,  as  then,  the  light  were  to  die  out, 
and  the  dreary  conscious  blank  come  back  again !     This  tiuic 


THE   BLACK   MARKS   BECOME   MAGICAL    73 

the  light  was  stronger  and  steadier;  but  what  security  was 
there  that  before  the  morrow  the  dark  fog  would  not  be  round 
him  again  ?  Even  the  fear  seemed  like  the  beginning  of  fee- 
bleness :  he  thought  with  alarm  that  he  might  sink  the  faster 
for  this  excited  vigil  of  his  on  the  hill,  which  was  expending 
his  force ;  and  after  seeking  anxiously  for  a  sheltered  corner 
where  he  might  lie  down,  he  nestled  at  last  against  a  heap  of 
warm  garden  straw,  and  so  fell  asleep. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  it  was  daylight.  The 
first  moments  were  filled  with  strange  bewilderment :  he  was 
a  man  with  a  double  identity ;  to  which  had  he  awaked  ?  — 
to  the  life  of  dim-sighted  sensibilities  like  the  sad  heirship  of 
some  fallen  greatness,  or  to  the  life  of  recovered  power  ? 
Surely  the  last,  for  the  events  of  the  night  all  came  back  to 
him,  —  the  recognition  of  the  page  in  Pausanias,  the  crowd- 
ing resurgence  of  facts  and  names,  the  sudden  wide  prospect 
which  had  given  him  such  a  moment  as  that  of  the  Mfenad 
in  the  glorious  amaze  of  her  morning  waking  on  the  moun- 
tain top. 

He  took  up  the  book  again,  he  read,  he  remembered 
without  reading.  He  saw  a  name,  and  the  images  of  deeds 
rose  with  it :  he  saw  the  mention  of  a  deed,  and  he  linked  it 
with  a  name.  There  were  stories  of  inexpiable  crimes,  but 
stories  also  of  guilt  that  seemed  successful.  There  were 
sanctuaries  for  swift-footed  miscreants :  baseness  had  its 
armour,  and  the  weapons  of  justice  sometimes  broke  against 
it.  What  then?  If  baseness  triumphed  everywhere  else,  if 
it  could  heap  to  itself  all  the  goods  of  the  world  and  even 
hold  the  keys  of  hell,  it  would  never  triumph  over  the  hatred 
which  it  had  itself  awakened.  It  could  devise  no  torture 
that  would  seem  greater  than  the  torture  of  submitting  to  its 
smile.  Baldassarre  felt  the  indestructible  independent  force 
of  a  supreme  emotion,  which  knows  no  terror,  and  asks  for  no 


74  ROMOLA 

motive,  which  is  itseK  an  ever-burning  motive,  consuming  all 
other  desire.  And  now  in  this  morning  light,  when  the  assur- 
ance came  again  that  the  fine  fibres  of  association  were  active 
still,  and  that  his  recovered  self  had  not  departed,  all  his 
gladness  was  but  the  hope  of  vengeance. 

From  that  time  till  the  evening  on  which  we  have  seen 
him  enter  the  Rucellai  gardens,  he  had  been  incessantly,  but 
cautiously,  inquiring  into  Tito's  position  and  all  his  circum- 
stances, and  there  was  hardly  a  day  on  which  he  did  not  con- 
trive to  follow  his  movements.  But  he  wished  not  to  arouse 
any  alarm  in  Tito :  he  wished  to  secure  a  moment  when  the 
hated  favourite  of  blind  fortune  was  at  the  summit  of  confi- 
dent ease,  surrounded  by  chief  men  on  whose  favour  he  de- 
pended. It  was  not  any  retributive  payment  or  recognition 
of  himself  for  his  own  behoof,  on  which  Baldassarre's  whole 
soul  was  bent :  it  was  to  find  the  sharpest  edge  of  disgrace 
and  shame  by  which  a  selfish  smiler  could  be  pierced :  it  was 
to  send  through  his  marrow  the  most  sudden  shock  of  dread. 
He  was  content  to  lie  hard,  and  live  stintedly,  —  he  had  spent 
the  greater  part  of  his  remaining  money  in  buying  another 
l)oniard  :  his  hunger  and  his  thirst  were  after  nothing  exquisite 
but  an  exquisite  vengeance.  He  had  avoided  addressing 
himself  to  any  one  whom  he  suspected  of  intimacy  with  Tito, 
lest  an  alarm  raised  in  Tito's  mind  should  urge  him  either  to 
flight  or  to  some  other  counteracting  measure  which  hard- 
pressed  ingenuity  might  devise.  For  this  reason  he  had 
never  entered  Nello's  shop,  which  he  observed  that  Tito 
frequented,  and  he  had  turned  aside  to  avoid  meeting  Piero 
di  Cosimo. 

The  possibility  of  frustration  gave  added  eagerness  to  his 
desire  that  the  great  opportunity  he  sought  should  not  be 
deferred.  The  desire  was  eager  in  him  on  another  ground  : 
be  trembled  lest  his  memory  should  go    again.     Whether 


THE   BLACK   MARKS   BECOME   MAGICAL    75 

from  the  agitating  presence  of  that  fear^,  or  from  some  other 
causes,  he  had  twice  felt  a  sort  of  mental  dizziness,  in  which 
the  inward  sense  or  imagination  seemed  to  be  losing  the  dis- 
tinct forms  of  things.  Once  he  had  attempted  to  enter  the 
Palazza  Vecchio  and  make  liis  way  into  a  council-chamber 
where  Tito  was,  and  had  failed.  But  now,  on  this  evening, 
he  felt  that  his  occasion  was  come. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A   SUPPER    IN    THE    liUCELLAI    GARDENS 

ON  entering  the  handsome  pavilion^  Tito's  quick  glance 
soon  discerned  in  the  selection  of  the  guests  the 
confirmation  of  his  conjecture  that  the  object  of  the 
gathering  was  political,  though,  perhaps,  nothing  more  dis- 
tinct than  that  strengthening  of  ])artj  which  comes  from 
good-fellowship.  Good  dishes  and  good  wine  were  at  that 
time  believed  to  heighten  the  consciousness  of  political  pref- 
erences, and  in  the  inspired  ease  of  after-supper  talk  it  was 
supposed  that  people  ascertained  their  own  opinions  with  a 
clearness  quite  inaccessible  to  uninvited  stomachs.  The 
Florentines  were  a  sober  and  frugal  people ;  but  wherever 
men  have  gathered  wealth,  Madonna  della  Gozzoviglia  and 
San  Buonvino  have  had  tlieir  worshippers ;  and  the  Rucellai 
were  among  the  few  Florentine  families  who  kept  a  great 
table  and  lived  splendidly.  It  was  not  probable  that  on  this 
evening  there  would  be  any  attempt  to  apply  high  philo- 
sophic theories;  and  there  could  be  no  objection  to  the  bust 
of  Plato  looking  on,  or  even  to  the  modest  presence  of  the 
cardinal  virtues  in  fresco  on  the  walls. 

That  bust  of  Plato  had  been  long  used  to  look  down  on 
conviviality  of  a  more  transcendental  sort,  for  it  had  been 
brought  from  Lorenzo's  villa  after  his  death,  when  the  meet- 
ings of  the  Platonic  Academy  had  been  transferred  to  these 
gardens.  Especially  on  every  13th  of  November,  reputed 
anniversary  of  Plato's  death,  it  had  looked  down  from  under 
laurel  leaves  on  a  picked  company  of  scholars  and  philosophers. 


Charles  VIII  of  France 


From  a  contemporary  bronze  bust  in  the  Bargello 


A   SUPPER  IN  THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS     77 

who  met  to  eat  and  drink  with  moderation,  and  to  discuss 
and  admire,  perhaps  with  less  moderation,  the  doctrines 
of  the  great  master,  —  on  Pico  della  Mirandola,  once  a 
Quixotic  young  genius  with  long  curls,  astonished  at  his  own 
powers  and  astonishing  Eome  with  heterodox  theses,  after- 
wards a  more  humble  student  with  a  consuming  passion  for 
inward  perfection,  having  come  to  find  the  universe  more  as- 
tonishing than  his  own  cleverness;  on  innocent,  laborious 
Marsilio  Ficino,  picked  out  young  to  be  reared  as  a  Platonic 
philosopher,  and  fed  on  Platonism  in  all  its  stages  till  his 
mind  was  perhaps  a  little  pulpy  from  that  too  exclusive  diet ; 
on  Angelo  Poliziano,  chief  literary  genius  of  that  age,  a  born 
poet,  and  a  scholar  without  dulness,  whose  phrases  had  blood 
in  them  and  are  alive  still ;  or,  further  back,  on  Leon  Bat- 
tista  Alberti,  a  reverend  senior  when  those  three  were  young, 
and  of  a  much  grander  type  than  they,  a  robust  universal 
mind,  at  once  practical  and  theoretic,  artist,  man  of  science, 
inventor,  poet;  and  on  many  more  valiant  workers  whose 
names  are  not  registered  where  every  day  we  turn  the  leaf  to 
read  them,  but  whose  labours  make  a  part,  though  an  unrec- 
ognized part,  of  our  inheritance,  like  the  ploughing  and 
sowing  of  past  generations. 

Bernardo  Rucellai  was  a  man  to  hold  a  distinguished 
place  in  that  Academy  even  before  he  became  its  host  and 
patron.  He  was  still  in  the  prime  of  life,  not  more  than  four 
and  forty,  with  a  somewhat  haughty,  cautiously  dignified 
presence ;  conscious  of  an  amazingly  pure  Latinity,  but,  says 
Erasmus,  not  to  be  cauglit  speaking  Latin,  —  no  word  of 
Latin  to  be  sheared  off  him  by  the  sharpest  of  Teutons.  He 
welcomed  Tito  with  more  marked  favour  than  usual,  and 
gave  him  a  place  between  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni  and  Giannozzo 
Pucci,  both  of  them  accomplished  young  members  of  the 
Medicean  party. 


78  ROMOLA 

Of  course  the  talk  was  the  lightest  in  the  world  while 
the  brass  bowl  filled  with  scented  water  was  passing  round, 
that  the  company  might  wash  their  hands,  and  rings  flashed 
on  white  fingers  under  the  wax-lights,  and  there  was  the 
pleasant  fragrance  of  fresh  white  damask  newly  come  from 
France.  The  tone  of  remark  was  a  very  common  one  in 
those  times.  Some  one  asked  what  Dante^s  pattern  old 
Florentine  would  think  if  the  life  could  come  into  him 
again  under  his  leathern  belt  and  bone  clasp,  and  he  could 
see  silver  forks  on  the  table?  And  it  was  agreed  on  all 
hands  that  the  habits  of  posterity  would  be  very  surprising 
to  ancestors,  if  ancestors  could  only  know  them. 

And  while  the  silver  forks  were  just  dallying  with  the 
appetizing  delicacies  that  introduced  the  more  serious  business 
of  the  supper,  —  such  as  morsels  of  liver,  cooked  to  that 
exquisite  point  that  they  would  melt  in  the  mouth,  —  there 
was  time  to  admire  the  designs  on  the  enamelled  silver  centres 
of  the  brass  service,  and  to  say  something,  as  usual,  about  the 
silver  dish  for  confetti,  a  masterpiece  of  Antonio  Pollajuolo, 
whom  patronizing  Popes  had  seduced  from  his  native  Flor- 
ence to  more  gorgeous  Eome. 

"  Ah,  I  remember,'^  said  Niccolb  Eidolfi,  a  middle-aged 
man,  with  that  negligent  ease  of  manner  which,  seeming  to 
claim  nothing,  is  really  based  on  the  life-long  consciousness  of 
commanding  rank,  —  "I  remember  our  Antonio  getting  bitter 
about  his  chiselling  and  enamelling  of  these  metal  things,  and 
taking  in  a  fury  to  painting,  because,  said  he,  '  the  artist  who 
puts  his  work  into  gold  and  silver,  puts  his  brains  into  the 
melting  pot.' " 

"And  that  is  not  unlikely  to  be  a  true  forboding  of 
Antonio's,"  said  Giannozzo  Pucci.  "  If  this  pretty  war  with 
Pisa  goes  on,  and  the  revolt  only  spreads  a  little  to  our  other 
towns,  it  is  not  only  our  silver  dishes  that  are  likely  to  go  j  I 


A   SUPPER   IN   THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS     79 

doubt  whether  Antonio^s  silver  saints  round  the  altar  of  San 
Giovanni  will  not  some  day  vanish  from  the  eyes  of  the 
faithful  to  be  worshipped  more  devoutly  in  the  form  of 
coin." 

"The  Frate  is  preparing  us  for  that  already/^  said 
Tomabuoni.  "  He  is  telling  the  people  that  God  will  not 
have  silver  crucifixes  and  starving  stomachs;  and  that  the 
church  is  best  adorned  with  the  gems  of  holiness  and  the  fine 
gold  of  brotherly  love." 

"  A  very  useful  doctrine  of  war-finance,  as  many  a  Con- 
dottiere  has  fouud/^  said  Bernardo  Eucellai,  dryly.  "But 
politics  come  on  after  the  confetti,  Lorenzo,  when  we  can 
drink  wine  enough  to  wash  them  down ;  they  are  too  solid  to 
be  taken  with  roast  and  boiled." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Niccolb  Ridolfi.  "  Our  Luigi  Pulci 
would  have  said  this  delicate  boiled  kid  must  be  eaten  with 
an  impartial  mind.  I  remember  one  day  at  Creggi,  when 
Luigi  was  in  his  rattling  vein  he  was  maintaining  that  nothmg 
perverted  the  palate  like  opinion.  '  Opinion,''  said  he,  ^  cor- 
rupts the  saliva,  —  that 's  why  men  took  to  pepper.  Scepticism 
is  the  only  philosophy  that  does  n't  bring  a  taste  in  the  mouth.' 
'  Nay,'  says  poor  Lorenzo  de'  Medici, '  you  must  be  out  there, 
Luigi.  Here  is  this  untainted  sceptic,  Matteo  Franco,  who 
wants  hotter  sauce  than  any  of  us.'  *  Because  he  has  a  strong 
opinion  of  himself'  fiashes  out  Luigi,  '  which  is  the  original 
egg  of  all  other  ophiion.  He  a  sceptic  ?  He  believes  in  the 
immortality  of  his  own  verses.  He  is  such  a  logician  as  that 
preaching  friar  who  described  the  pavement  of  the  bottomless 
pit.'  Poor  Luigi,  his  mind  was  like  sharpest  steel  that  can 
touch  nothing  without  cutting." 

"  And  yet  a  very  gentle-hearted  creature,"  said  Gian- 
nozzo  Pucci.  "  It  seemed  to  me  his  talk  was  a  mere  blow- 
ing of  soap-bubbles.     What  dithyrambs  he  went  into  about 


80  ROMOLA 

eating  and  drinking !  and  yet  he  was  as  temperate  as  a 
butterfly/' 

The  light  talk  and  the  solid  eatables  were  not  soon  at  an 
end,  for  after  the  roast  and  boiled  meats  came  the  indispensa- 
ble capon  and  game,  and,  crowning  glory  of  a  well-spread 
table,  a  peacock  cooked  according  to  the  receipt  of  Apicius 
for  cooking  partridges,  namely,  with  the  feathers  on,  but  not 
plucked  afterwards,  as  that  great  authority  ordered  concern- 
ing his  partridges ;  on  the  contrary,  so  disposed  on  the  dish 
that  it  might  look  as  much  as  possible  like  a  live  peacock  tak- 
ing its  unboiled  repose.  Great  was  the  skill  required  in  that 
confidential  servant  who  was  the  official  carver,  respectfully 
to  turn  the  classical  though  insipid  bird  on  its  back,  and 
expose  the  plucked  breast  from  which  he  was  to  dispense 
a  delicate  slice  to  eacli  of  the  honourable  company,  unless 
any  one  sliould  be  of  so  independent  a  mind  as  to  decline 
that  expensive  toughness  and  prefer  the  vulgar  digestibility 
of  capon. 

Hardly  any  one  was  so  bold.  Tito  quoted  Horace,  and 
dispersed  his  slice  in  small  particles  over  his  plate ;  Bernardo 
Hucellai  made  a  learned  observation  about  the  ancient  price 
of  peacocks'  eggs,  but  did  not  pretend  to  eat  his  slice;  and 
Niccolb  Eidolfi  held  a  mouthful  on  his  fork  while  he  told 
a  favourite  story  of  Luigi  Pulci's,  about  a  man  of  Siena, 
who,  wanting  to  give  a  splendid  entertainment  at  moderate 
expense,  bought  a  wild  goose,  cut  off  its  beak  and  webbed 
feet,  and  boiled  it  in  its  feathers,  to  pass  for  a  pea-hen. 

In  fact,  very  little  peacock  was  eaten  ;  but  there  was 
the  satisfaction  of  sitting  at  a  table  where  peacock  was  served 
up  in  a  remarkable  manner,  and  of  knowing  that  such  ca- 
prices were  not  within  reach  of  any  but  those  who  supped 
with  the  very  wealtliiest  men.  And  it  would  have  been 
rashness  to  speak  slightingly  of  peacock's  flesh,  or  any  other 


A   SUPPER   IN   THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS     81 

venerable  institution^  at  a  time  when  Fra  Girolamo  was  teach- 
ing the  disturbing  doctrine  that  it  was  not  the  duty  of  the 
ricli  to  be  luxurious  for  the  sake  of  the  poor. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  chill  obscurity  that  surrounded  this 
centre  of  warmth  and  light  and  savoury  odours,  the  lonely 
disowned  man  was  walking  in  gradually  narrowing  circuits. 
He  paused  among  the  trees,  and  looked  in  at  the  windows, 
which  made  briUiant  pictures  against  the  gloom.  He  could 
hear  the  laughter ;  he  could  see  Tito  gesticulating  with  care- 
less grace,  and  hear  his  voice,  now  alone,  now  mingling  in 
the  merry  confusion  of  interlacing  speeches.  Baldassarre's 
mind  was  highly  strung.  He  was  preparing  himseK  for  the 
moment  when  he  could  win  his  entrance  into  this  brilliant 
company ;  and  he  had  a  savage  satisfaction  in  the  sight  of 
Tito's  easy  gayety,  which  seemed  to  be  preparing  the 
unconscious  victim  for  more  effective  torture. 

But  the  men  seated  among  the  branching  tapers  and  the 
flashing  cups  could  know  nothing  of  the  pale  fierce  face  that 
watched  them  from  without.  The  light  can  be  a  curtain  as 
well  as  the  darkness. 

And  the  talk  went  on  with  more  eagerness  as  it  became 
less  disconnected  and  trivial.  The  sense  of  citizenship  was 
just  then  strongly  forced  even  on  the  most  indifferent  minds. 
What  the  overmastering  Pra  Girolamo  was  saying  and  prompt- 
ing was  really  uppermost  in  the  thoughts  of  every  one  at 
table ;  and  before  the  stewed  fish  was  removed,  and  while  the 
favourite  sweets  were  yet  to  come,  his  name  rose  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  conversation,  and,  in  spite  of  Rucellai's  previous 
prohibition,  the  talk  again  became  political.  At  first,  while 
the  servants  remained  present,  it  was  mere  gossip  :  what  had 
been  done  in  the  Palazzo  on  the  first  day^s  voting  for  the 
Great  Council,  how  hot-tempered  and  domhieering  Francesco 
Valori  was,  as  if  he  were  to  have  everything  his  own  way  by 

VOL.   II.  — 6 


82  ROMOLA 

right  of  his  austere  virtue ;  and  how  it  was  clear  to  every- 
body who  heard  Sodcrini's  speeches  in  favour  of  the  Great 
Council  and  also  heard  the  Frate's  sermons,  that  they  were 
both  kneaded  in  the  same  trough. 

"  My  opinion  is,"  said  Niccolb  Eidolfi,  "  that  the  Frate 
has  a  longer  head  for  public  matters  than  Soderini  or  any 
Piagnone  among  them  :  you  may  depend  on  it  that  Soderini 
is  his  mouthpiece  more  than  he  is  Sodcrini's/^ 

"  No,  Niccolo ;  there  I  difl'er  from  you/''  said  Bernardo 
Rucellai:  "the  Frate  has  an  acute  mind,  and  readily  sees 
what  will  serve  his  own  ends;  but  it  is  not  likely  that  Pago- 
lantonio  Soderini,  who  has  had  long  experience  of  affairs,  and 
has  specially  studied  the  Venetian  Council,  should  be  much 
indebted  to  a  monk  for  ideas  on  that  subject.  No,  no ;  So- 
derini loads  the  cannon;  though,  I  grant  you,  Fra  Girolamo 
brings  the  powder  and  lights  the  match.  He  is  master  of 
the  people,  and  the  people  are  getting  master  of  us.     Ecco  !  " 

"  Well,''  said  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni,  presently,  when  the 
room  was  clear  of  servants,  and  nothing  but  wine  was  passing 
round,  "  whether  Soderini  is  indebted  or  not,  loe  are  indebted 
to  the  Frate  for  the  general  amnesty  which  has  gone  along 
with  the  scheme  of  the  Council.  We  might  have  done  with- 
out the  fear  of  God  and  the  reform  of  morals  being  passed 
by  a  majority  of  black  beans ;  but  that  excellent  proposition, 
that  our  Medicean  heads  should  be  allowed  to  remain  com- 
fortably on  our  shoulders,  and  that  we  should  not  be  obliged 
to  hand  over  our  property  in  fines,  has  my  warm  approval, 
and  it  is  my  belief  that  nothing  but  the  Frate's  predominance 
could  have  procured  that  for  us.  And  you  may  rely  on  it 
that  Fra  Girolamo  is  as  firm  as  a  rock  on  that  point  of  pro- 
moting peace.     I  have  had  an  interview  with  him." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  surprise  and  curiosity  at  the 
farther   end   of  the   table ;   but  Bernardo   Eucellai   simply 


Charles  VIII  of  France 


Fram  the  dr,in:iiuj  di/  Cri.itofhro  dell'  Aldssimo 
{1554-1605)  in  the  Ufzi  Gallery 


A   SUPPER  IN  THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS    S3 

noddedj  as  if  he  knew  what  Tornabuoni  had  to  saj,  and 
wished  him  to  go  on. 

"  Yes/'  proceeded  Tornabuoni^  "  I  have  been  favoured 
with  an  interview  in  the  Praters  own  cell,  which,  let  me  tell 
you,  is  not  a  common  favour ;  for  I  have  reason  to  believe 
that  even  Francesco  Valori  very  seldom  sees  him  in  private. 
However,  I  think  he  saw  me  the  more  willingly  because  I  was 
not  a  ready-made  follower,  but  had  to  be  converted.  And, 
for  my  part,  I  see  clearly  enough  that  the  only  safe  and  wise 
policy  for  us  Mediceans  to  pursue  is  to  throw  our  strength 
into  the  scale  of  the  Praters  party.  We  are  not  strong  enough 
to  make  head  on  our  own  behalf;  and  if  the  Prate  and  the 
popular  party  were  upset,  every  one  who  hears  me  knows 
j)erfectly  well  what  other  party  would  be  uppermost  just  now : 
Nerli,  Alberti,  Pazzi,  and  the  rest,  —  Arrabbiati,  as  somebody 
christened  them  the  other  day,  —  who  instead  of  giving  us  an 
amnesty,  would  be  inclined  to  fly  at  our  throats  like  mad  dogs, 
and  not  be  satisfied  till  they  had  banished  half  of  us.'' 

There  were  strong  interjections  of  assent  to  this  last 
sentence  of  Tornabuoni' s,  as  he  paused  and  looked  round  a 
moment. 

"  A  wise  dissimulation,"  he  went  on,  "  is  the  only  course 
for  moderate  rational  men  in  times  of  violent  party  feeling. 
I  need  hardly  tell  this  company  what  are  my  real  political 
attachments  :  I  am  not  the  only  man  here  who  has  strong 
personal  ties  to  the  banished  family;  but,  apart  from  any 
such  ties,  I  agree  with  my  more  experienced  friends,  who  are 
allowing  me  to  speak  for  them  in  their  presence,  that  the 
only  lasting  and  peaceful  state  of  things  for  Plorence  is  the 
predominance  of  some  single  family  interest.  This  theory  of 
the  Prate's  that  we  are  to  have  a  popular  government,  in 
which  every  man  is  to  strive  only  for  the  general  good,  and 
know  no  party  names,  is  a  theory  that  may  do  for  some  isle 


84  ROMOLA 

of  Cristoforo  Colombo's  finding,  but  will  never  do  for  our 
fine  old  quarrelsome  Florence.  A  change  must  come  before 
long,  and  with  patience  and  caution  we  have  every  chance  of 
determining  the  change  in  our  favour.  Meanwhile,  the  best 
thing  we  can  do  will  be  to  keep  the  Frate's  flag  flying ;  for 
if  any  other  were  to  be  hoisted  just  now,  it  would  be  a  black 
flag  for  us.'' 

"  It 's  true,"  said  Niccolb  Eidolfi,  in  a  curt,  decisive 
way.  "  What  you  say  is  true,  Lorenzo.  For  my  own  part, 
I  am  too  old  for  anybody  to  believe  tlKit  I  have  changed  my 
feathers.  And  there  are  certain  of  us  —  our  old  Bernardo 
del  Nero  for  one  —  whom  you  would  never  persuade  to  bor- 
row another  man's  shield.  But  we  can  lie  still,  like  sleepy 
old  dogs ;  and  it 's  clear  enough  that  barking  would  be  of 
no  use  just  now.  As  for  this  psalm-singing  party,  who  vote 
for  nothing  but  the  glory  of  God,  and  want  to  make  believe 
we  can  all  love  each  other,  and  talk  as  if  vice  could  be  swept 
out  with  a  besom  by  the  Magnificent  Eight,  their  day  will 
not  be  a  long  one.  After  all  the  talk  of  scholars,  there  are 
but  two  sorts  of  government :  one  where  men  show  their 
teeth  at  each  other,  and  one  where  men  show  their  tongues 
and  lick  the  feet  of  the  strongest.  They  '11  get  their  Great 
Council  finally  voted  to-morrow  —  that 's  certain  enough  — 
and  they  '11  think  they  've  found  out  a  new  plan  of  govern- 
ment ;  but  as  sure  as  there 's  a  human  skin  under  every 
lucco  in  the  Council,  their  new  plan  will  end  like  every  other, 
in  snarling  or  in  licking.  That 's  my  view  of  things  as  a 
plain  man.  Not  that  I  consider  it  becoming  in  men  of  fam- 
ily and  following,  who  have  got  others  depending  on  their 
constancy  and  on  their  sticking  to  their  colours,  to  go 
a-hunting  with  a  fine  net  to  catch  reasons  in  the  air,  like 
doctors  of  law.  I  say  frankly  that,  as  the  head  of  my  family, 
I  shall  be  true  to  my  old  alliances;  and  I  have  never  yet 


A   SUPPER   IN   THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS    85 

seen  any  clialk-mark  on  political  reasons  to  tell  me  which  is 
true  and  which  is  false.  My  friend  Bernardo  Rucellai  here 
is  a  man  of  reasons,  I  know,  and  I  have  no  objection  to  any- 
body's finding  fine-spun  reasons  for  me,  so  that  they  don't 
interfere  with  my  actions  as  a  man  of  family  who  has  faith  to 
keep  with  his  connections.'' 

"If  that  is  an  appeal  to  me,  Niccolb,"  said  Bernardo 
Rucellai,  with  a  formal  dignity,  in  amusing  contrast  with  Ei- 
dolfi's  curt  and  pithy  ease,  "  I  may  take  this  opportunity  of 
saying,  that  while  my  wishes  are  partly  determined  by  long- 
standing personal  relations,  I  cannot  enter  into  any  positive 
schemes  with  persons  over  whose  actions  I  have  no  control. 
I  myself  might  be  content  with  a  restoration  of  the  old  order 
of  things ;  but  with  modifications,  —  with  important  modifi- 
cations. And  the  one  point  on  which  I  wish  to  declare  my 
concurrence  with  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni  is,  that  the  best  policy 
to  be  pursued  by  our  friends  is,  to  throw  the  weight  of  their 
interest  into  the  scale  of  the  popular  party.  Por  myself,  I 
condescend  to  no  dissimulation ;  nor  do  I  at  present  sec  the 
party  or  the  scheme  that  commands  my  full  assent.  In  all 
alike  there  is  crudity  and  confusion  of  ideas,  and  of  all  the 
twenty  men  who  are  my  colleagues  in  the  present  crisis, 
there  is  not  one  with  whom  I  do  not  find  myself  in  wide 
disagreement." 

Niccolb  Ridolfi  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  left  it  to 
some  one  else  to  take  up  the  ball.  As  the  wine  went  round, 
the  talk  became  more  and  more  frank  and  lively,  and  the  desire 
of  several  at  once  to  be  the  chief  speaker,  as  usual,  caused  the 
company  to  break  up  into  small  knots  of  two  and  three. 

It  was  a  result  which  had  been  foreseen  by  Lorenzo 
Tornabuoni  and  Giannozzo  Pucci,  and  they  were  among  the 
first  to  turn  aside  from  the  highroad  of  general  talk  and  enter 
into  a  special  conversation  with  Tito,  who  sat  between  them  j 


86  ROMOLA 

gradually  pushing  away  their  seats,  and  turning  their  backs 
on  the  table  and  wine. 

"  In  truth,  Meleraa,"  Tornabuoni  was  saying  at  this 
stage,  laying  one  hose-clad  leg  across  the  knee  of  the  other, 
and  caressing  his  ankle,  "  I  know  of  no  man  in  Florence  who 
can  serve  our  party  better  than  you.  You  see  what  most  of 
our  friends  are,  — men  who  can  no  more  hide  their  prejudices 
than  a  dog  can  hide  the  natural  tone  of  his  bark,  or  else  men 
whose  political  ties  are  so  notorious  that  they  must  always  be 
objects  of  suspicion.  Giannozzo  here,  and  I,  I  flatter  myself, 
are  able  to  overcome  that  suspicion ;  we  have  that  power  of 
concealment  and  finesse  without  which  a  rational  cultivated 
man,  instead  of  having  any  prerogative,  is  really  at  a  disad- 
vantage compared  with  a  wild  bull  or  a  savage.  But,  except 
yourself,  I  know  of  no  one  else  on  whom  we  could  rely  for 
the  necessary  discretion.''^ 

"  Yes,"  said  Giannozzo  Pucci,  laying  his  hand  on  Tito^s 
shoulder,  "  the  fact  is,  Tito  mio,  you  can  help  us  better  than 
if  you  were  Ulysses  himself,  for  I  am  convhiccd  that  Ulysses 
often  made  himself  disagreeable.  To  manage  men  one  ought 
to  have  a  sharp  mind  in  a  velvet  sheath.  And  there  is  not  a 
soul  in  Florence  who  could  undertake  a  business  like  this 
journey  to  Rome,  for  example,  with  the  same  safety  that  you 
can.  There  is  your  scholarship,  which  may  always  be  a  pre- 
text for  such  journeys;  and  what  is  better,  there  is  your 
talent,  which  it  would  be  harder  to  match  than  your  scholar- 
ship. Niccolb  Macchiavelli  might  have  done  for  us  if  he 
had  been  on  our  side,  but  hardly  so  well.  He  is  too  much 
bitten  with  notions,  and  has  not  your  power  of  fascination. 
All  the  worse  for  him.  He  has  lost  a  great  chance  in  life, 
and  you  have  got  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tornabuoni,  lowering  his  voice  in  a  signifi- 
cant manner^  "  you  have  only  to  play  your  game  well,  Melema, 


Sa\oxauola  preaching 


From  a  mnrble  statue  hi/  Enrico 
Pazzi  in  Palazzo  Vecchio 


A   SUPPER   IN  THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS    87 

and  the  future  belongs  to  you.  For  the  Medici,  you  may  rely 
upon  it,  will  keep  a  foot  in  Rome  as  well  as  in  Florence,  and 
the  time  may  not  be  far  off  when  they  will  be  able  to  make  a 
finer  career  for  their  adherents  even  than  they  did  in  old  days. 
Why  should  n't  you  take  orders  some  day  ?  There 's  a  cardi- 
nal's hat  at  the  end  of  that  road,  and  you  would  not  be  the  first 
Greek  who  has  worn  that  ornament." 

Tito  laughed  gayly.  He  was  too  acute  not  to  measure 
Tornabuoni's  exaggerated  flattery,  but  still  the  flattery  had  a 
pleasant  flavour. 

"  My  joints  are  not  so  stiff  yet,"  he  said,  ^^  that  I  can't 
be  induced  to  run  without  such  a  high  prize  as  that.  I  think 
the  income  of  an  abbey  or  two  held  '  in  commendam,'  without 
the  trouble  of  getting  my  head  shaved,  would  satisfy  me  at 
present." 

"  I  was  not  joking,"  said  Tornabuoni,  with  grave  suav- 
ity ;  "  I  think  a  scholar  would  always  be  the  better  off"  for 
taking  orders.  But  we  '11  talk  of  that  another  time.  One  of 
the  objects  to  be  first  borne  in  mind  is  that  you  should  win 
the  confidence  of  the  men  who  hang  about  San  Marco ;  that 
is  what  Giannozzo  and  I  shall  do,  but  you  may  carry  it  far- 
ther than  we  can,  because  you  are  less  observed.  In  that  way 
you  can  get  a  thorough  knowledge  of  their  doings,  and  you 
will  make  a  broader  screen  for  your  agency  on  our  side. 
Nothing  of  course  can  be  done  before  you  start  for  Rome, 
because  this  bit  of  business  between  Piero  de'  Medici  and  the 
French  nobles  must  be  effected  at  once.  I  mean  when  you 
come  back,  of  course ;  I  need  say  no  more.  I  believe 
you  could  make  yourself  the  pet  votary  of  San  Marco,  if 
you  liked ;  but  you  are  wise  enough  to  know  that  effective 
dissimulation  is  never  immoderate." 

"  If  it  were  not  that  an  adhesion  to  the  popular  side  is 
necessary  to  your  safety  as  an  agent  of  our  party,  Tito  mio," 


88  ROMOLA 

said  Giannozzo  Pucci^  who  was  more  fraternal  and  less 
patronizing  iu  his  manner  than  Tornabuoni,  "  I  could  have 
wished  your  skill  to  have  been  employed  in  another  way,  for 
which  it  is  still  better  fitted.  But  now  we  must  look  out  for 
some  other  man  among  us  who  will  manage  to  get  into  the 
confidence  of  our  sworn  enemies,  the  Arrabbiati ;  we  need  to 
know  their  movements  more  than  those  of  the  Frate^s  party, 
who  are  strong  enough  to  play  above-board.  Still,  it  would 
have  been  a  difficult  thing  for  you,  from  your  known  relations 
with  the  Medici  a  Kttle  while  back,  and  that  sort  of  kinship 
your  wife  has  with  Bernardo  del  Nero.  We  must  find  a  man 
who  has  no  distinguished  connections,  and  who  has  not  yet 
taken   any  side.''^ 

Tito  was  pushing  his  hair  backward  automatically,  as 
his  manner  was,  and  looking  straight  at  Pucci  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible  smile  on  his  lips. 

"  No  need  to  look  out  for  any  one  else,*'  he  said  promptly. 
"  I  can  manage  the  whole  business  with  perfect  ease.  I  will 
engage  to  make  myself  the  special  confidant  of  that  thick- 
headed Dolfo  Spiui,  and  know  his  projects  before  he  knows 
them  himself.^' 

Tito  seldom  spoke  so  confidently  of  his  own  powers,  but 
he  was  in  a  state  of  exultation  at  the  sudden  opening  of  a 
new  path  before  him,  where  fortune  seemed  to  have  hung 
higher  prizes  than  any  he  had  thought  of  hitherto.  Hith- 
erto he  had  seen  success  only  in  the  form  of  favour;  it  now 
flashed  on  him  in  the  shape  of  power,  —  of  such  power  as 
is  possible  to  talent  without  traditional  ties  and  without 
beliefs.  Each  party  that  thought  of  him  as  a  tool  might 
become  dependent  on  him.  His  position  as  an  alien,  his 
indifference  to  the  ideas  or  prejudices  of  the  men  among 
whom  he  moved,  were  suddenly  transformed  into  advan- 
tages ;  lie  became  newly  conscious  of  his  own  adroitness  in 


A   SUPPER   IN  THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS     89 

the  presence  of  a  game  that  he  was  called  on  to  play.  And  all 
the  motives  which  might  have  made  Tito  shrink  from  the  triple 
deceit  that  came  before  him  as  a  tempting  game  had  been 
slowly  strangled  in  him  by  the  successive  falsities  of  his  life. 

Our  lives  make  a  moral  tradition  for  our  individual 
selves^  as  the  life  of  mankind  at  large  makes  a  moral  tradi- 
tion for  the  race;  and  to  have  once  acted  nobly  seems  a 
reason  why  we  should  always  be  noble.  But  Tito  was  feel- 
ing the  effect  of  an  opposite  tradition :  he  had  won  no  mem- 
ories of  self-conquest  and  perfect  faithfulness  from  which  he 
could  have  a  sense  of  falling. 

The  triple  colloquy  went  on  with  growing  spirit  till 
it  was  interrupted  by  a  call  from  the  table.  Probably  the 
movement  came  from  the  listeners  in  the  party^  who  were 
afraid  lest  the  talkers  should  tire  themselves.  At  all  events 
it  was  agreed  that  there  had  been  enough  of  gravity,  and 
Eucellai  had  just  ordered  new  flasks  of  Montepulciano. 

"  How  many  minstrels  are  there  among  us  ?  "  he  said, 
when  there  had  been  a  general  rallying  round  the  table. 
"  Melema,  I  think  you  are  the  chief :  Matteo  will  give  you 
the  lute/' 

"  Ah,  yes ! "  said  Giannozzo  Pucci,  "  lead  the  last 
chorus  from  Poliziano's  '  Orfeo,'  that  you  have  found  such 
an  excellent  measure  for,  and  we  will  all  fall  in :  — 

" '  Ciascun  segua,  o  Bacco,  te  : 
Bacco,  Bacco,  evoe,  evoe  ! ' " 

The  servant  put  the  lute  into  Tito's  hands,  and  then 
said  something  in  an  undertone  to  his  master.  A  little 
subdued  questioning  and  answering  went  on  between  them, 
while  Tito  touched  the  lute  hi  a  preluding  way  to  the  strain 
of  the  chorus,  and  there  was  a  confusion  of  speech  and  mu- 
sical humming  all  round  the  table.     Bernardo  Rucellai  had 


90  ROMOLA 

said,  "  Wait  a  moment,  Melcma ;  "  but  the  words  had  been 
unlieard  by  Tito,  who  was  k'aiiing  towards  Pucci,  and  sing- 
ing low  to  him  the  phrases  of  the  Maenad-chorus,  lie  no- 
ticed nothing  until  the  buzz  round  the  table  suddenly  ceased, 
and  the  notes  of  his  own  voice,  with  its  soft  low-toned  tri- 
umph, "  Evoe,  evoe  !  "  fell  in  startling  isolation. 

It  was  a  strange  moment.  Baldassarre  had  moved 
round  the  table  till  he  was  opposite  Tito;  and  as  the  hum 
ceased,  there  might  be  seen  for  an  instant  Baldassarre^'s  fierce 
dark  eyes  bent  on  Tito^s  bright,  smiling  unconsciousness, 
while  the  low  notes  of  triumph  dropped  from  his  lips  into 
the  silence. 

Tito  looked  up  with  a  slight  start,  and  his  lips  turned 
pale,  but  he  seemed  hardly  more  moved  than  Giannozzo 
Pucci,  who  had  looked  up  at  the  same  moment,  —  or  even 
than  several  others  round  the  table ;  for  that  sallow-lined  face 
with  the  hatred  in  its  eyes  seemed  a  terrible  apparition  across 
the  wax-lit  ease  and  gaycty.  And  Tito  quickly  recovered 
some  self-command.  "  A  mad  old  man,  —  he  looks  like  it, 
—  he  is  mad  !  "  was  the  instantaneous  thought  that  brouglit 
some  courage  with  it ;  for  he  could  conjecture  no  hiward 
change  in  Baldassarre  since  they  had  met  before.  He  just 
let  his  eyes  fall  and  laid  the  lute  on  the  table  with  apparent 
ease ;  but  his  fingers  pinched  the  neck  of  the  lute  hard  while 
he  governed  his  head  and  his  glance  sufficiently  to  look  with 
an  air  of  quiet  appeal  towards  Bernardo  Eucellai,  who  said 
at  once,  — 

"Good  man,  what  is  your  business?  What  is  the  im- 
portant declaration  that  you  have  to  make  ?  " 

"  Messer  Bernardo  Eucellai,  I  wish  you  and  your  hon- 
ourable friends  to  know  in  what  sort  of  company  you  are 
sitting.     There  is  a  traitor  among  you.'^ 

There  was  a  general  movement  of  alarm.     Every  one 


A  SUPPER   IN  THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS    91 

present,  except  Tito,  thought  of  political  danger  and  not  of 
private  injury. 

Baldassarre  began  to  speak  as  if  he  were  thoroughly 
assured  of  what  he  had  to  say ;  but  in  spite  of  his  long 
preparation  for  this  moment,  there  was  the  tremor  of  over- 
mastering excitement  in  his  voice.  His  passion  shook  him. 
He  went  on,  but  he  did  not  say  what  he  had  meant  to  say. 
As  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  Tito  again,  the  passionate  words  were 
like  blows,  —  they  defied  premeditation. 

"  There  is  a  man  among  you  who  is  a  scoundrel,  a  liar, 
a  robber.  I  was  a  father  to  him.  I  took  him  from  beggary 
when  he  was  a  child.  I  reared  him,  I  cherished  him,  I  taught 
him,  I  made  him  a  scholar.  My  head  has  lain  hard  that  his 
might  have  a  pillow.  And  he  left  me  in  slavery  ;  lie  sold  the 
gems  that  were  mine,  and  when  I  came  again,  he  denied  me." 

The  last  words  had  been  uttered  with  almost  convulsed 
agitation;  and  Baldassarre  paused,  trembling.  All  glances 
were  turned  on  Tito,  who  was  now  looking  straight  at  Baldas- 
sare.  It  was  a  moment  of  desperation  that  annihilated  all 
feeling  in  him,  except  the  determination  to  risk  anything  for 
the  chance  of  escape.  And  he  gathered  confidence  from  the 
agitation  by  which  Baldassarre  was  evidently  shaken.  He  had 
ceased  to  pinch  the  neck  of  the  lute,  and  had  thrust  his 
thumbs  into  his  belt,  while  his  lips  had  begun  to  assume  a 
slight  curl.  He  had  never  yet  done  an  act  of  murderous 
cruelty  even  to  the  smallest  animal  that  could  utter  a  cry,  but 
at  that  moment  he  would  have  been  capable  of  treading  the 
breatli  from  a  smiling  child  for  the  sake  of  his  own  safety. 

"  What  docs  this  mean,  Melema  ? "  said  Bernardo  Ru- 
cellai,  in  a  tone  of  cautious  surprise.  He,  as  well  as  the  rest 
of  the  company,  felt  relieved  that  the  tenor  of  the  accusation 
was  not  political. 

"Messer  Bernardo,"  said  Tito,  "I  believe  this  man  is 


92  ROMOLA 

mad.  I  did  not  recognize  him  the  first  time  he  encountered 
me  in  Plorence^  but  I  know  now  that  he  is  the  servant  who 
years  ago  accompanied  me  and  ray  adoptive  father  to  Greece, 
and  was  dismissed  on  account  of  misdemeanours.  His  name  is 
Jacopo  di  Nola.  Even  at  that  time  I  believed  his  mind  was 
unhinged,  for, .with out  any  reason,  he  had  conceived  a  strange 
hatred  towards  me;  and  now  I  am  convinced  that  he  is 
laboring  under  a  mania  which  causes  him  to  mistake  his  iden- 
tity. He  has  already  attempted  my  life  since  he  has  been  in 
Florence  ;  and  I  am  in  constant  danger  from  him.  But  he  is 
an  object  of  pity  rather  than  of  indignation.  It  is  too  certain 
that  my  father  is  dead.  You  have  only  my  word  for  it ;  but 
I  must  leave  it  to  your  judgment  how  far  it  is  probable  that  a 
man  of  intellect  and  learning  would  have  been  lurking  about 
in  dark  corners  for  the  last  month  with  the  purpose  of  assas- 
sinating me ;  or  how  far  it  is  probable  that  if  this  man  were 
my  second  father,  I  could  have  any  motive  for  denying  him. 
That  story  about  my  being  rescued  from  beggary  is  the  vision 
of  a  diseased  brain.  But  it  will  be  a  satisfaction  to  me  at 
least  if  you  will  demand  from  him  proofs  of  his  identity, 
lest  any  malignant  person  should  choose  to  make  this  mad 
impeachment  a  reproach  to  me.'' 

Tito  had  felt  more  and  more  confidence  as  he  went  on : 
the  lie  was  not  so  difficult  when  it  was  once  begun ;  and  as 
the  words  fell  easily  from  his  lips,  they  gave  liim  a  sense  of 
power  such  as  men  feel  when  they  have  begun  a  muscular  feat 
successfully.  In  this  way  he  acquired  boldness  enough  to  end 
with  a  challenge  for  proofs. 

Baldassarre,  while  he  had  been  walking  in  the  gardens 
and  afterwards  waiting  in  an  outer  room  of  the  pavilion  with 
the  servants,  had  been  making  anew  the  digest  of  the  evidence 
he  would  bring  to  prove  his  identity  and  Tito's  baseness,  re- 
calling the  description  and  history  of  his  gems,  and  assuring 


LuDovico  Sforza 


From  the  woodcut  in  "■Antonio 
Campo,"  htoria  di  Cremona 


A   SUPPER   IN   THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS    93 

himself  by  rapid  mental  glances  that  he  could  attest  his 
learning  and  his  travels.  It  might  be  partly  owing  to  this 
nervous  strain  that  the  new  shock  of  rage  he  felt  as  Tito's  lie 
fell  on  his  ears  brought  a  strange  bodily  effect  with  it :  a  cold 
stream  seemed  to  rush  over  him,  and  the  last  words  of  the 
speech  seemed  to  be  drowned  by  ringing  chimes.  Thought 
gave  way  to  a  dizzy  horror,  as  if  the  earth  were  slipping  away 
from  under  him.  Every  one  in  the  room  was  looking  at 
him  as  Tito  ended,  and  saw  that  the  eyes  which  had  had 
such  fierce  intensity  only  a  few  minutes  before  had  now  a 
vague  fear  in  them.  He  clutched  the  back  of  a  seat,  and 
was  silent. 

Hardly  any  evidence  could  have  been  more  in  favour  of 
Tito's  assertion. 

"  Surely  I  have  seen  this  man  before,  somewhere,'^  said 
Tornabuoni. 

"  Certainly  you  have,"  said  Tito,  readily,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  He  is  the  escaped  prisoner  who  clutched  me  on  the  steps  of 
the  Duomo.  I  did  not  recognize  him  then :  he  looks  now 
more  as  he  used  to  do,  except  that  he  has  a  more  unmistak- 
able air  of  mad  imbecility." 

"  I  cast  no  doubt  on  your  word,  Melema,"  said  Bernardo 
Rucellai,  with  cautious  gravity,  "  but  you  are  right  to  desire 
some  positive  test  of  the  fact."  Then  turning  to  Baldassarre, 
lie  said :  "  If  you  are  the  person  you  claim  to  be,  you  can 
doubtless  give  some  description  of  the  gems  which  were  your 
property.  I  myself  was  the  purchaser  of  more  than  one  gem 
from  Messer  Tito,  —  the  chief  rings,  I  believe,  in  his  collec- 
tion. One  of  them  is  a  fine  sard,  engraved  vrith  a  subject 
from  Homer.  If,  as  you  allege,  you  are  a  scholar,  and  the 
rightful  owner  of  that  ring,  you  can  doubtless  turn  to  the 
noted  passage  in  Homer  from  which  that  subject  is  taken. 
Do  you  accept  this  test,  Melema  ?  or  have  you  anything  to 


94  ROMOLA 

allege  against  its  validity  ?  The  Jacopo  you  speak  of,  was  he 
a  scholar  ?  " 

It  was  a  fearful  crisis  for  Tito.  If  he  said  "  Yes," 
his  quick  mind  told  him  that  he  would  shake  the  credibility 
of  his  story;  if  he  said  "No,"  he  risked  everything  on  the 
uncertain  extent  of  Baldassarre's  imbecility.  But  there  was 
no  noticeable  pause  before  he  said,  "No.  I  accept  the 
test." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  while  Rucellai  moved  towards 
the  recess  where  the  books  were,  and  came  back  with  the  fine 
Florentine  Homer  in  his  hand.  Baldassarre,  when  he  was 
addressed,  had  turned  his  head  towards  the  speaker,  and 
Rucellai  believed  that  he  had  understood  him.  But  he  chose 
to  repeat  what  he  had  said,  that  there  might  be  no  mistake 
as  to  the  test. 

"  The  ring  I  possess,"  he  said,  "  is  a  fine  sard,  engraved 
with  a  subject  from  Homer.  There  was  no  other  at  all  re- 
sembling it  in  Messer  Tito's  collection.  Will  you  turn  to 
the  passage  iu  Homer  from  which  that  subject  is  taken? 
Seat  yourself  here,"  he  added,  laying  the  book  on  the  table, 
and  pointing  to  his  own  seat  while  he  stood  beside  it. 

Baldassarre  had  so  far  recovered  from  the  first  confused 
horror  produced  by  the  sensation  of  rushing  coldness  and 
chiming  din  in  the  ears  as  to  be  partly  aware  of  what  was 
said  to  him  :  he  was  aware  that  something  was  being  de- 
manded from  him  to  prove  his  identity,  but  he  formed  no 
distinct  idea  of  the  details.  The  sight  of  the  book  recalled 
the  habitual  longing  and  faint  hope  that  he  could  read  and 
understand,  and  he  moved  towards  the  chair  immediately. 

The  book  was  open  before  him,  and  he  bent  his  head 
a  little  towards  it,  while  everybody  watched  him  eagerly. 
He  turned  no  leaf.  His  eyes  wandered  over  the  pages  that 
lay  before  him,  and  then  fixed  on  them  a  straining  gaze. 


A   SUPPER   IN   THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS    95 

This  lasted  for  two  or  three  minutes  in  dead  silence.  Tlien 
he  lifted  his  hands  to  eacli  side  of  his  head,  and  said,  in 
a  low  tone  of  despair,  "  Lost,  lost !  " 

There  was  something  so  piteous  in  the  wandering  look 
and  the  low  cry,  that  while  they  confirmed  the  belief  in  his 
madness  they  raised  compassion.  Nay,  so  distinct  some- 
times is  the  working  of  a  double  consciousness  within  us, 
that  Tito  himself,  while  he  triumphed  in  the  apparent  verifi- 
cation of  his  lie,  wished  that  he  had  never  made  the  lie 
necessary  to  himself,  —  wished  he  had  recognized  his  father 
on  the  steps,  —  wished  he  had  gone  to  seek  him,  —  wished 
everything  had  been  different.  But  he  had  borrowed  from 
the  terrible  usurer  Falsehood,  and  the  loan  had  mounted  and 
mounted  with  the  years,  till  he  belonged  to  the  usurer,  body 
and  soul. 

The  compassion  excited  in  all  the  witnesses  was  not  with- 
out its  danger  to  Tito ;  for  conjecture  is  constantly  guided 
by  feeling,  and  more  than  one  person  suddenly  conceived 
that  this  man  might  have  been  a  scholar  and  have  lost  his 
faculties.  On  the  other  hand,  they  had  not  present  to  their 
minds  the  motives  which  could  have  led  Tito  to  the  denial  of 
his  benefactor,  and  having  no  ill-will  towards  him,  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  them  to  believe  that  he  had  been  utter- 
ing the  basest  of  lies.  And  the  originally  common  type  of 
Baldassarre's  person,  coarsened  by  years  of  hardship,  told  as 
a  confirmation  of  Tito's  lie.  If  Baldassarre,  to  begin  with, 
could  have  uttered  precisely  the  words  he  had  premeditated, 
there  might  have  been  something  in  the  form  of  his  accusa- 
tion which  would  have  given  it  the  stamp  not  only  of  true 
experience  but  of  mental  refinement.  But  there  liad  been  no 
such  testimony  in  his  impulsive  agitated  words  ;  and  there 
seemed  the  very  opposite  testimony  in  the  rugged  face  and 
the  coarse  hands  that  trembled  beside  it,   standing  out  in 


96  ROMOLA 

strong  contrast  in  the  midst  of  that  velvct-clacl^  fair-handed 
company. 

His  next  movement,  while  he  was  being  watclied  in 
silence,  told  against  him  too.  He  took  his  hands  from  his 
head,  and  felt  for  something  under  his  tunic.  Every  one 
guessed  what  that  movement  meant,  —  guessed  that  there 
was  a  weapon  at  his  side.  Glances  were  interchanged ;  and 
Bernardo  Rucellai  said,  in  a  quiet  tone,  touching  Baldassarre's 
shoulder,  — 

"  My  friend,  this  is  an  important  business  of  yours. 
You  shall  have  all  justice.  Follow  me  into  a  private 
room.^' 

Baldassarrc  was  still  in  that  half-stunned  state  in  which 
lie  was  susceptible  to  any  prompting,  in  the  same  way  !is  an 
insect  that  forms  no  conception  of  what  the  prompting  leads 
to.  He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  followed  Eucellai  out  of  the 
room. 

In  two  or  three  minutes  Rucellai  came  back  again,  and 
said,  — 

"  He  is  safe  under  lock  and  key.  Piero  Pitti,  you  are 
one  of  the  Magnificent  Eight,  what  do  you  think  of  our 
sending  Matteo  to  the  palace  for  a  couple  of  sbirri,  who  may 
escort  him  to  the  Stinche  ?  If  there  is  any  danger  in  him,  as 
I  think  there  is,  he  will  be  safe  there ;  and  we  can  inquire 
about  him  to-morrow.^' 

Pitti  assented,  and  the  order  was  given. 

"lie  is  certainly  an  ill-looking  fellow,"  said  Torna- 
buoni.  "  And  you  say  he  has  attempted  your  life  already, 
Melema?" 

And  the  talk  turned  on  the  various  forms  of  madness, 
and  the  fierceness  of  the  southern  blood.  If  the  seeds  of 
conjecture  unfavourable  to  Tito  had  been  planted  in  the  mind 
of  any  one  present^  they  were  hardly  strong  enough  to  grow 


The  Via  dell'  Oriuolo,  witli  the 
door  of  the  Pazzi  Garden 


From  the  ilrowlnq  by  E.  Bttrci 
in  the  Ufizi  Gallery 


A   SUPPER   IN   THE   RUCELLAI   GARDENS    97 

without  the  aid  of  much  dayliglit  and  ill-will.  The  common- 
looking,  wild-eyed  old  man,  clad  in  serge,  might  have  won 
belief  without  very  strong  evidence,  if  he  had  accused  a  man 
who  was  envied  and  disliked.  As  it  was,  the  only  congru- 
ous and  probable  view  of  the  case  seemed  to  be  the  one  that 
sent  the  unpleasant  accuser  safely  out  of  sight,  and  left  the 
pleasant  serviceable  Tito  just  where  he  was  before. 

The  subject  gradually  floated  away,  and  gave  place  to 
others,  till  a  heavy  tramp,  and  something  like  the  struggling 
of  a  man  who  was  being  dragged  away,  were  heard  outside. 
The  sounds  soon  died  out,  and  the  interruption  seemed  to 
make  the  last  hour's  conviviality  more  resolute  and  vigourous. 
Every  one  was  willing  to  forget  a  disagreeable  incident. 

Tito's  heart  was  palpitating,  and  the  wine  tasted  no 
better  to  him  than  if  it  had  been  blood. 

To-night  he  had  paid  a  heavier  price  than  ever  to  make 
himself  safe.  He  did  not  like  the  price,  and  yet  it  was 
inevitable  that  he  should  be  glad  of  the  purchase. 

And  after  all  he  led  the  chorus.  He  was  in  a  state  of 
excitement  in  which  oppressive  sensations,  and  the  wretched 
consciousness  of  something  hateful  but  irrevocable,  were 
mingled  with  a  feeling  of  triumph  which  seemed  to  assert 
itself  as  the  feeling  that  would  subsist  and  be  master  of 
the  morrow. 

And  it  was  master.  For  on  the  morrow,  as  we  saw, 
when  he  was  about  to  start  on  his  mission  to  Rome,  he  had 
the  air  of  a  man  well  satisfied  with  the  world. 


VOL.  II.  —  7 


CHAPTER  XX 

AN   AREESTING   VOICE 

WHEN  Romola  sat  down  on  the  stone  under  the 
cypress,  all  things  conspired  to  give  her  the  sense 
of  freedom  and  solitude,  —  her  escape  from  the 
accustomed  walls  and  streets ;  the  widenmg  distance  from  her 
husband,  who  was  by  this  time  riding  towards  Siena,  while 
every  hour  would  take  her  farther  on  the  opposite  way;  the 
morning  stillness;  the  great  dip  of  ground  on  the  roadside 
making  a  gulf  between  her  and  the  sombre  calm  of  the 
mountains.  For  the  first  time  in  her  Kfe  she  felt  alone  in 
the  presence  of  the  earth  and  sky,  with  no  human  presence 
interposing  and  making  a  law  for  her. 

Suddenly  a  voice  close  to  her  said,  — 

"  You  are  Eomola  de^  Bardi,  the  wife  of  Tito  Melema.*' 

She  knew  the  voice,  —  it  had  vibrated  through  her 
more  than  once  before;  and  because  she  knew  it,  she  did 
not  turn  round  or  look  up.  She  sat  shaken  by  awe,  and  yet 
inwardly  rebelling  against  the  awe.  It  was  one  of  those 
black-skirted  monks  who  was  daring  to  speak  to  her,  and 
interfere  with  her  privacy :  that  was  all.  And  yet  she  was 
shaken,  as  if  that  destiny  which  men  thought  of  as  a  sceptred 
deity  had  come  to  her,  and  grasped  her  with  fingers  of  flesh. 

"  You  are  fleeing  from  Florence  in  disguise.  I  have  a 
command  from  God  to  stop  you.  You  are  not  permitted  to 
flee.^^ 

Romola's  anger  at  the  intrusion  mounted  higher  at  these 
imperative  words.     She  would  not  turn  round  to  look  at  the 


AN   ARRESTING   VOICE  99 

speaker,  whose  examining  gaze  she  resented.  Sitting  quite 
motionless,  she  said,  — 

"  What  right  have  you  to  speak  to  me  or  to  hinder 
me?" 

"  The  right  of  a  messenger.  You  have  put  on  a  reli- 
gious garb,  and  you  have  no  religious  purpose.  You  have 
sought  the  garb  as  a  disguise.  But  you  were  not  suffered  to 
pass  me  without  being  discerned.  It  was  declared  to  me  who 
you  were :  it  is  declared  to  me  that  you  are  seeking  to  escape 
from  the  lot  God  has  laid  upon  you.  You  wish  your  true 
name  and  your  true  place  in  life  to  be  hidden,  that  you  may 
choose  for  yourself  a  new  name  and  a  new  place,  and  have  no 
rule  but  your  own  will.  And  I  have  a  command  to  call  you 
back.     My  daughter,  you  must  return  to  your  place." 

Romola^s  mind  rose  in  stronger  rebellion  with  every  sen- 
tence. She  was  the  more  determined  not  to  show  any  sign 
of  submission,  because  the  consciousness  of  being  inwardly 
shaken  made  her  dread  lest  she  should  fall  into  irresolution. 
She  spoke  with  more  irritation  than  before. 

"I  will  not  return.  I  acknowledge  no  right  of  priests 
and  monks  to  interfere  with  my  actions.  You  have  no  power 
over  me," 

"  I  know  —  I  know  you  have  been  brought  up  in  scorn 
of  obedience.  But  it  is  not  the  poor  monk  who  claims  to 
interfere  with  you  :  it  is  the  truth  that  commands  you.  And 
you  cannot  escape  it.  Either  you  must  obey  it,  and  it  will 
lead  you ;  or  you  must  disobey  it,  and  it  will  hang  on  you 
with  the  weight  of  a  chain  which  you  will  drag  forever.  But 
you  will  obey  it,  my  daughter.  Your  old  servant  will  return 
to  you  with  the  mules ;  my  companion  is  gone  to  fetch  him ; 
and  you  will  go  back  to  Florence." 

She  started  up  with  anger  in  her  eyes,  and  faced  the 
speaker.     It  was  Fra  Girolamo  ;  she  knew  that  well  enough 


100  ROMOLA 

before.  She  was  nearly  as  tall  as  he  was,  and  their  faces  were 
almost  on  a  level.  She  had  started  up  with  defiant  words 
ready  to  burst  from  her  lips,  but  they  feU  back  again  without 
utterance.  She  had  met  Fra  Girolamo's  calm  glance,  and  the 
impression  from  it  was  so  new  to  her  that  her  anger  sank 
ashamed  as  something  irrelevant. 

There  was  nothing  transcendent  in  Savonarola's  face. 
It  was  not  beautiful.  It  was  strong-featured,  and  owed  all 
its  refinement  to  habits  of  mind  and  rigid  discipline  of  the 
body.  The  source  of  the  impression  his  glance  produced  on 
Eomola  was  the  sense  it  conveyed  to  her  of  interest  in  her  and 
care  for  her  apart  from  any  personal  feeling.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  encountered  a  gaze  in  which  simple  human  fel- 
lowship expressed  itself  as  a  strongly  felt  bond.  Such  a 
glance  is  half  the  vocation  of  the  priest  or  spiritual  guide  of 
men,  and  Eomola  felt  it  impossible  again  to  question  his  au- 
thority to  speak  to  her.  She  stood  silent,  looking  at  him. 
And  he  spoke  again. 

"  You  assert  your  freedom  proudly,  my  daughter.  But 
who  is  so  base  as  the  debtor  that  thinks  himself  free  ?  " 

There  was  a  sting  in  those  words,  and  Eomola's  counte- 
nance changed  as  if  a  subtle  pale  flash  had  gone  over  it. 

"  And  you  are  flying  from  your  debts,  —  the  debt  of 
a  Florentine  woman,  the  debt  of  a  wife.  You  are  turning 
your  back  on  the  lot  that  has  been  appointed  for  you  ;  you 
are  going  to  choose  another.  But  can  man  or  woman  choose 
duties  ?  No  more  than  they  can  choose  their  birthplace  or 
their  father  and  mother.  My  daughter,  you  are  fleeing  from 
the  presence  of  God  into  the  wilderness." 

As  the  anger  melted  from  Eomola's  mind,  it  had  given 
place  to  a  new  presentiment  of  the  strength  there  might  be  in 
submission,  if  this  man,  at  whom  she  was  beginning  to  look 
with  a  vague  reverence,  had  some  valid  law  to  show  her. 


I 


AN  ARRESTING   VOICE  101 

But  no  —  it  was  impossible ;  he  could  not  know  what  deter- 
mined her.  Yet  she  could  not  again  simply  refuse  to  be 
guided ;  she  was  constrained  to  plead ;  and  in  her  new  need 
to  be  reverent  wliile  she  resisted,  the  title  which  she  had  never 
given  him  before  came  to  her  lips  without  forethought. 

"  My  father,  you  cannot  know  the  reasons  which  compel 
me  to  go.  None  can  know  them  but  myself.  None  can 
judge  for  me.  I  have  been  driven  by  great  sorrow.  I  am 
resolved  to  go.^' 

"  I  know  enough,  my  daughter :  my  mind  has  been  so 
far  illuminated  concerning  you,  that  I  know  enough.  You 
are  not  happy  in  your  married  life  :  but  I  am  not  a  confessor, 
and  I  seek  to  know  nothing  that  should  be  reserved  for  the 
seal  of  confession.  I  have  a  divine  warrant  to  stop  you, 
which  does  not  depend  on  such  knowledge.  You  were  warned 
by  a  message  from  heaven,  delivered  in  my  presence,  —  you 
were  warned  before  marriage,  when  you  might  still  have  law- 
fully chosen  to  be  free  from  the  marriage-bond.  But  you 
chose  the  bond;  and  in  wilfully  breaking  it  —  I  speak  to  you 
as  a  pagan,  if  the  holy  mystery  of  matrimony  is  not  sacred  to 
you  —  you  are  breaking  a  pledge.  Of  what  wrongs  will  you 
complain,  my  daughter,  when  you  yourself  are  committing 
one  of  the  greatest  wrongs  a  woman  and  a  citizen  can  be 
guilty  of,  —  withdrawing  in  secrecy  and  disguise  from  a  pledge 
which  you  have  given  in  the  face  of  God  and  your  fellow- 
men  ?  Of  what  wrongs  will  you  complain,  when  you  yourself 
are  breaking  the  simplest  law  that  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the 
trust  which  binds  man  to  man,  —  faithfulness  to  the  spoken 
word  ?  This,  then,  is  the  wisdom  you  have  gained  by  scorning 
the  mysteries  of  the  Church  ?  —  not  to  see  the  bare  duty  of 
integrity,  where  the  Church  would  have  taught  you  to  see,  not 
integrity  only,  but  religion." 

The  blood  had  rushed  to  Uomola's  face,  and  ^1^^  shrank 

s"^^"-   !taK^-^-^  ^  C:0..- 


102  ROMOLA 

as  if  she  had  been  stricken.  "  I  would  not  have  put  on  a 
disguise,"  she  began ;  but  she  could  not  go  on,  —  she  was  too 
much  shaken  by  the  suggestion  in  the  Frate's  words  of  a  pos- 
sible affinity  between  her  own  conduct  and  Tito's. 

"  And  to  break  that  pledge  you  fly  from  Florence,  — 
Florence,  where  there  are  the  only  men  and  women  in  the 
world  to  whom  you  owe  the  debt  of  a  fellow-citizen." 

"I  should  never  have  quitted  Florence,"  said  Romola, 
tremulously,  "as  long  as  there  was  any  hope  of  my  fulfilling 
a  duty  to  my  father  there." 

"  And  do  you  owe  no  tie  but  that  of  a  child  to  her 
father  in  the  flesh  ?  Your  life  has  been  spent  in  blindness, 
my  daughter.  You  have  lived  with  those  who  sit  on  a  hill 
aloof,  and  look  down  on  the  life  of  their  fellow-men.  I  know 
their  vain  discourse.  It  is  of  what  has  been  in  the  times 
which  they  fill  with  their  own  fancied  wisdom,  while  tliey 
scorn  God's  work  in  the  present.  And  doubtless  you  were 
taught  how  there  were  pagan  women  who  felt  what  it  was  to 
live  for  the  Eepublic ;  yet  you  have  never  felt  that  you,  a 
Florentine  woman,  should  live  for  Florence.  If  your  own 
people  are  wearing  a  yoke,  will  you  slip  from  under  it,  instead 
of  struggling  with  them  to  lighten  it  ?  There  is  hunger  and 
misery  in  our  streets ;  yet  you  say,  '  I  care  not ;  I  have  my 
own  sorrows;  I  will  go  away,  if  peradventure  I  can  ease 
them.'  The  servants  of  God  are  struggling  after  a  law  of 
justice,  peace,  and  charity,  that  the  hundred  thousand  citizens 
among  whom  you  were  bom  may  be  governed  righteously ; 
but  you  think  no  more  of  tliis  than  if  you  were  a  bird,  that 
may  spread  its  wings  and  fly  whither  it  will  in  search  of  food 
to  its  liking.  And  yet  you  have  scorned  the  teaching  of  the 
Church,  my  daughter.  As  if  you,  a  wilful  wanderer,  following 
your  own  blind  choice,  were  not  below  the  humblest  Floren- 
tine woman   who  stretches   forth  her   hands  with  her  own 


GiROLAMO    BeKIVIEXI 


From  his  death-mask  in  the  Miisee  clii  Loiivn 


AN   ARRESTING   VOICE  103 

people^  and  craves  a  blessing  for  them ;  and  feels  a  close  sister- 
hood with  the  neighbour  who  kneels  beside  her  and  is  not  of 
her  own  blood;  and  thinks  of  the  mighty  purpose  that  God 
has  for  Florence ;  and  waits  and  endures  because  the  prom- 
ised work  is  great,  and  she  feels  herself  little." 

"  I  was  not  going  away  to  ease  and  self-indulgence/^ 
said  Eomola,  raising  her  head  again,  with  a  prompting  to 
vindicate  herself.  "  I  was  going  away  to  hardship.  I  expect 
no  joy  :  it  is  gone  from  my  life." 

"You  are  seeking  your  own  will,  my  daughter.  You 
are  seeking  some  good  other  than  the  law  you  are  bouiul  to 
obey.  But  how  will  you  find  good  ?  it  is  not  a  thing  of 
choice  :  it  is  a  rivei'  that  flows  from  the  foot  of  the  Invisible 
Throne,  and  flows  by  the  path  of  obedience.  I  say  again, 
man  cannot  choose  his  duties.  You  may  choose  to  forsake 
your  duties,  and  choose  not  to  have  the  sorrow  they  bring. 
But  you  will  go  forth;  and  what  will  you  find,  my 
daughter  ?  Sorrow  without  duty,  —  bitter  herbs,  and  no 
bread  with  them." 

"But  if  you  knew,"  said  Romola,  clasping  her  hands 
and  pressing  them  tight,  as  she  looked  pleadingly  at  Era 
Girolamo,  —  "  if  you  knew  what  it  was  to  me,  —  how  impos- 
sible it  seemed  to  me  to  bear  it." 

"My  daughter,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  cord  round 
Romola^'s  neck,  "you  carry  something  within  your  mantle; 
draw  it  forth,  and  look  at  it." 

Romola  gave  a  slight  start,  but  her  impulse  now  was  to  do 
just  what  Savonarola  told  her.  Her  self-doubt  was  grappled 
by  a  stronger  will  and  a  stronger  conviction  than  her  own.  She 
drew  forth  the  crucifix.     Still  pointing  towards  it,  he  said, — 

"There,  my  daughter,  is  tlie  image  of  a  Supreme  Offer- 
ing, made  by  Supreme  Love,  because  the  need  of  mau  was 
great." 


104  ROMOLA 

He  paused,  and  she  held  the  crucifix  trembling,  —  trem- 
bling under  a  sudden  impression  of  the  wide  distance  between 
her  present  and  her  past  self.  What  a  length  of  road  she 
had  travelled  through  since  she  first  took  that  crucifix  from 
the  Frate's  hands  !  Had  life  as  many  secrets  before  her  still 
as  it  had  for  her  then,  in  her  young  blindness?  It  was  a 
thought  that  helped  all  other  subduing  iufiueiiccs;  and  at  (he 
sound  of  Fra  Girolamo's  voice  again,  Jloinola,  with  a  quick 
involuntnry  movement  pressed  the  crucifix  against  her  mantle 
and  looked  at  him  with  more  submission  than  before. 

"Conform  your  life  to  that  image,  my  daughter;  make 
your  sorrow  an  offering :  and  when  the  fire  of  Divine  charity 
bums  within  you,  and  you  behold  the  need  of  your  fellow-men 
by  the  light  of  that  flame,  you  will  not  call  your  offering 
great.  You  have  carried  yourself  proudly,  as  one  who  lield 
herself  not  of  common  blood  or  of  common  thoughts ;  but 
you  have  been  as  one  unborn  to  the  true  life  of  man.  What! 
you  say  your  love  for  your  father  no  longer  tells  you  to  stay 
in  Florence?  Then,  since  that  tie  is  snapped,  you  are  with- 
out a  law,  without  religion :  you  are  no  better  than  a  beast 
of  the  field  wlien  she  is  robbed  of  her  young.  If  the  yearn- 
ing of  a  fleshly  love  is  gone,  you  are  without  love,  without 
obligation.  See,  then,  my  daughter,  how  you  are  below  the 
life  of  tlie  believer  who  worships  that  image  of  the  Supreme 
Offering,  and  feels  the  glow  of  a  common  life  with  the  lost 
multitude  for  whom  that  offering  was  made,  and  beholds  the 
history  of  the  world  as  the  history  of  a  great  redemption  in 
which  he  is  himself  a  fellow-worker,  in  his  own  place  and 
among  his  own  j^eople  !  If  you  held  that  faith,  my  beloved 
daugliter,  you  would  not  be  a  wanderer  flying  from  suffering, 
and  blindly  seeking  the  good  of  a  freedom  which  is  lawless- 
ness. You  M'ould  feel  that  Florence  was  the  home  of  your 
soul  as  well  as  your  birthplace,  because  you  would  see  the 


AN  ARRESTING   VOICE  105 

work  that  was  given  you  to  do  tliere.  If  you  forsake  your 
place,  who  will  fill  it  ?  You  ought  to  be  in  your  place  now, 
helping  in  the  great  work  by  which  God  will  purity  Florence, 
and  raise  it  to  be  the  guide  of  the  nations.  What !  the  earth 
is  full  of  iniquity,  full  of  groans,  —  the  light  is  still  strug- 
gling with  a  mighty  darkness,  and  you  say,  '  I  cannot  bear 
my  bonds;  I  will  burst  them  asunder;  I  will  go  where  no 
man  claims  nie '  ?  My  daughter,  every  bond  of  your  life  is 
a  debt :  the  right  lies  in  the  payment  of  that  debt ;  it  can  lie 
nowhere  else.  In  vain  will  you  wander  over  the  earth  ;  you 
will  be  wandering  forever  away  from  the  right/^ 

Eomola  was  inwardly  struggling  with  strong  forces,  — 
that  immense  personal  influence  of  Savonarola,  which  came 
from  the  energy  of  his  emotions  and  beliefs ;  and  her  con- 
sciousness, surmounting  all  prejudice,  that  his  words  implied 
a  higher  law  than  any  she  had  yet  obeyed.  But  the  resisting 
thoughts  were  not  yet  overborne. 

"  How,  then,  could  Dino  be  right  ?  He  broke  ties  ;  he 
forsook  his  place. •'^ 

"  That  was  a  special  vocation.  He  was  constrained  to 
depart,  else  he  could  not  have  attained  the  higher  life.  It 
would  have  been  stifled  within  him." 

"  And  I  too,"  said  Eomola,  raising  her  hands  to  her 
brow,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  of  anguish,  as  if  she  were  being 
dragged  to  some  torture.     "  Father,  you  may  be  wrong." 

"  Ask  your  conscience,  my  daughter.  You  have  no 
vocation  such  as  your  brother  had.  You  are  a  wife.  You 
seek  to  break  your  ties  in  self-will  and  anger,  not  because 
the  liigher  life  calls  upon  you  to  renou!ice  them.  The  higher 
life  begins  for  us,  my  daughter,  wlien  we  renounce  our  own 
will  to  bow  before  a  Divine  law.  That  seems  hard  to  you. 
It  is  the  portal  of  wisdom  and  freedom  and  blessedness. 
And  the  symbol  of  it  hangs  before  you.     That  wisdom  is  the 


106  ROMOLA 

religion  of  the  Cross.  And  you  stand  aloof  from  it :  you  are 
a  pagan ;  you  have  been  taught  to  say,  '  I  am  as  the  wise 
men  who  lived  before  the  time  when  tlie  Jew  of  Nazareth 
was  crucified/  And  that  is  your  wisdom  !  To  be  as  the 
dead  whose  eyes  are  closed,  and  whose  ear  is  deaf  to  the 
work  of  God  that  has  been  since  their  time.  What  has  your 
dead  wisdom  done  for  you,  my  daughter  ?  It  has  left  you 
without  a  heart  for  the  neighbours  among  whom  you  dwell, 
without  care  for  the  great  work  by  which  Florence  is  to  be 
regenerated  and  the  world  made  holy ;  it  has  left  you  without 
a  share  in  the  Divine  life  which  quenches  the  sense  of  suffer- 
ing Self  in  the  ardours  of  an  ever-growing  love.  And  now, 
when  the  sword  has  pierced  your  soul,  you  say,  '  I  will  go 
away ;  I  cannot  bear  my  sorrow.^  And  you  think  nothing 
of  the  sorrow  and  the  wrong  that  are  within  the  walls  of  the 
city  where  you  dwell :  you  would  leave  your  place  empty, 
when  it  ought  to  be  filled  with  your  pity  and  your  labour. 
If  there  is  wickedness  in  the  streets,  your  steps  should  shine 
with  the  light  of  purity ;  if  there  is  a  cry  of  anguish,  you, 
my  daughter,  because  you  know  the  meaning  of  the  cry, 
should  be  there  to  still  it.  My  beloved  daughter,  sorrow 
has  come  to  teach  you  a  new  worship  :  the  sign  of  it  hangs 
before  you." 

Romola's  mind  was  still  torn  by  conflict.  She  foresaw 
that  she  should  obey  Savonarola  and  go  back  :  his  words  had 
come  to  her  as  if  they  were  an  interpretation  of  that  revulsioii 
from  self-satisfied  ease,  and  of  that  new  fellowship  with  suf- 
fering, which  had  already  been  awakened  in  her.  His  arrest- 
ing voice  had  brought  a  new  condition  into  her  life,  which 
made  it  seem  impossible  to  her  that  she  could  go  on  her 
way  as  if  she  had  not  heard  it ;  yet  she  shrank  as  one  who 
sees  the  path  she  must  take,  but  sees,  too,  that  the  hot  lava 
lies  there.     And  the  instinctive  shrinking  from  a  retura  to 


AN   ARRESTING   VOICE  107 

her  husband  brought  doubts.  She  turned  away  her  eyes 
from  Era  Girolamo,  and  stood  for  a  minute  or  two  M'ith  her 
hands  hanging  clasped  before  her^  like  a  statue.  At  last  she 
spoke,  as  if  the  words  were  being  wrung  from  her,  still 
looking  on  the  ground. 

"  My  husband  ...  he  is  not  .  .  .  my  love  is  gone ! " 

"  My  daughter,  there  is  the  bond  of  a  higher  love.  Mar- 
riage is  not  carnal  only,  made  for  selfish  delight.  See  what 
that  thought  leads  you  to  !  It  leads  you  to  wander  away  in 
a  false  garb  from  all  the  obligations  of  your  place  and  name. 
That  would  not  have  been,  if  you  had  learned  that  it  is  a 
sacramental  vow,  from  which  none  but  God  can  release  you. 
My  daughter,  your  life  is  not  as  a  grain  of  sand,  to  be  blown 
by  the  winds ;  it  is  a  thing  of  flesh  and  blood,  that  dies  if  it 
be  sundered.     Your  husband  is  not  a  malefactor?'* 

Romola  started.  "  Heaven  forbid  !  No ;  I  accuse  him 
of  nothing.'* 

"  I  did  not  suppose  he  was  a  malefactor.  I  meant  that 
if  he  were  a  malefactor,  your  place  would  be  in  the  prison 
beside  him.  My  daughter,  if  the  cross  comes  to  you  as 
a  wife,  you  must  carry  it  as  a  wife.  You  may  say,  '  I 
will  forsake  my  husband,*  but  you  cannot  cease  to  be  a 
wife.*' 

"  Yet  if  —  oh,  how  could  I  bear  —  **  Romola  had  in- 
voluntarily begun  to  say  something  which  she  sought  to 
banish  from  her  mind  again. 

"  Make  your  marriage-sorrows  an  offering  too,  my 
daughter:  an  offering  to  the  great  work  by  which  sin  and 
sorrow  are  being  made  to  cease.  The  end  is  sure,  and  is 
already  beginning.  Here  in  Florence  it  is  beginning,  and  the 
eyes  of  faith  behold  it.  And  it  may  be  our  blessedness  to  die 
for  it :  to  die  daily  by  the  crucifixion  of  our  selfish  will, —  to 
(lir  at  last  by  laying  our  bodies  on  the  altar.     My  daughter, 


108  ROMOLA 

you  are  a  child  of  Florence  ;  fulfil  the  duties  of  that  great  in- 
heritance. Live  for  Florence,  —  for  your  own  people,  whom 
God  is  preparing  to  bless  the  earth.  Bear  the  anguish  and 
the  smart.  The  iron  is  sharp  —  I  know,  I  know  —  it  rends 
the  tender  flesh.  The  draught  is  bitterness  on  the  lips.  But 
there  is  rapture  in  the  cup,  —  there  is  the  vision  which  makes 
all  life  below  it  dross  forever.  Come,  my  daughter,  come 
back  to  your  place  !  " 

While  Savonarola  spoke  with  growing  intensity,  his 
arms  tightly  folded  before  him  still,  as  they  had  been  from 
the  first,  but  his  face  alight  as  from  an  inward  flame,  Romola 
felt  herself  surrounded  and  possessed  by  the  glow  of  his  pas- 
sionate faith.  The  chill  doubts  all  melted  away;  she  was 
subdued  by  the  sense  of  something  unspeakably  great  to 
which  she  was  being  called  by  a  strong  being  who  roused  a 
new  strength  within  herself.  In  a  voice  that  was  like  a  low, 
prayerful  cry,  she  said, — 

"  Father,  I  will  be  guided.  Teach  me !  I  will  go 
back.^^ 

Almost  unconsciously  she  sank  on  her  knees.  Savona- 
rola stretched  out  his  hands  over  her ;  but  feeling  would  no 
longer  pass  through  the  channel  of  speech,  and  he  was  silent. 


I 


The  fresco  by  Fra  Bartoloramco 
in  the  Chapel  of  Savonarola 


R 


CHAPTER  XXI 

COMING    BACK 

ISE,  my  daughter,"  said  Fra  Girolamo,  at  last, 
"  Your  servant  is  waiting  not  far  off  with  the  mules. 
It  is  time  that  I  should  go  onward  to  Florence/' 

Romola  arose  from  her  knees.  That  silent  attitude  had 
been  a  sort  of  sacrament  to  her,  confirming  the  state  of 
yearning  passivity  on  which  she  had  newly  entered.  By  the 
one  act  of  renouncing  her  resolve  to  quit  her  husband,  her 
will  seemed  so  utterly  bruised  that  she  felt  the  need  of  direc- 
tion even  in  small  things.  She  lifted  up  the  edge  of  her  cowl, 
and  saw  Maso  and  the  second  Dominican  standing  with  their 
backs  towards  her  on  the  edge  of  the  hill  about  ten  yards  from 
her ;  but  she  looked  at  Savonarola  again  without  speaking, 
as  if  the  order  to  Maso  to  turn  back  must  come  from  him 
and  not  from  her. 

"  I  will  go  and  call  them,"  he  said,  answering  her  glance 
of  appeal  ;  "and  I  will  recommend  you,  my  daughter,  to  the 
Brother  who  is  with  me.  You  desire  to  put  yourself  under 
guidance,  and  to  learn  that  wisdom  which  has  been  hitherto 
as  foolishness  to  you.  A  chief  gate  of  that  wisdom  is  the 
sacrament  of  confession.  You  will  need  a  confessor,  my 
daughter,  and  I  desire  to  put  you  under  the  care  of  Fra  Sal- 
vestro,  one  of  the  brethren  of  San  Marco,  in  whom  I  most 
confide. " 

"  I  would  ratlicr  liave  no  guidance  but  yours,  father," 
said  Romola,  looking  anxious. 


110  ROMOLA 

"  My  dauglitcr,  I  do  not  act  as  a  confessor.  The  voca- 
tion I  have  withdraws  me  from  offices  that  would  force  me 
into  frequent  contact  with  the  laity,  and  interfere  with  my 
special  duties/' 

"  Then  shall  I  not  be  able  to  speak  to  you  in  private  ? 
if  I  waver,  if  —  "  Romola  broke  off  from  risijig  agitation. 
She  felt  a  sudden  alarm  lest  her  new  strength  in  renunciation 
should  vanish  if  the  immediate  personal  influence  of  Savona- 
rola vanished. 

"  My  daughter,  if  your  soul  has  need  of  the  word  in 
private  from  my  lips,  you  will  let  me  know  it  through  Fra 
Salvestro,  and  I  will  see  you  in  the  sacristy  or  in  the  choir 
of  San  Marco.  And  I  will  not  cease  to  watch  over  you.  I 
will  instruct  my  brother  concerning  you,  that  he  may  guide 
you  into  that  path  of  labour  for  the  suffering  and  the  hun- 
gry to  which  you  are  called  as  a  daughter  of  Florence  in 
these  times  of  hard  need.  I  desire  to  behold  you  among  the 
feebler  and  more  ignorant  sisters  as  the  apple-tree  among  the 
trees  of  the  forest,  so  that  your  fairness  and  all  natural  gifts 
may  be  but  as  a  lamp  through  which  the  Divine  light  shines 
the  more  purely.     I  will  go  now  and  call  your  servant.'^ 

When  Maso  had  been  sent  a  little  way  in  advance,  Fra 
Salvestro  came  forward,  and  Savonarola  led  Romola  towards 
him.  She  had  beforehand  felt  an  inward  shrinking  from  a 
new  guide  who  was  a  total  stranger  to  her ;  but  to  have  re- 
sisted Savonarola's  advice  would  have  been  to  assume  an 
attitude  of  independence  at  a  moment  when  all  her  strength 
must  be  drawn  from  the  renunciation  of  independence.  And 
the  whole  bent  of  her  mind  now  was  towards  doing  what  was 
painful  rather  than  what  was  easy.  She  bowed  reverently  to 
Fra  Salvestro  before  looking  directly  at  him ;  but  when  she 
raised  her  head  and  saw  him  fully,  her  reluctance  became  a 
palpitating  doubt.     There  are  men   whose  presence  infuses 


COMING   BACK  111 

trust  and  reverence ;  there  are  others  to  whom  we  have  need 
to  carry  our  trust  and  reverence  ready-made ;  and  that  differ- 
ence flashed  on  Romola  as  she  ceased  to  have  Savonarola  before 
her,  and  saw  in  his  stead  Fra  Salvestro  Maruffi.  It  was  not 
that  there  was  anything  manifestly  repulsive  in  Pra  Salvcs- 
tro's  face  and  manner,  any  air  of  hypocrisy,  any  tinge  of 
coarseness ;  his  face  was  handsomer  than  Fra  Girolamo's,  his 
person  a  little  taller.  He  was  the  long-accepted  confessor  of 
many  among  the  chief  personages  in  Florence,  and  had  there- 
fore had  large  experience  as  a  spiritual  director.  But  his 
face  had  the  vacillating  expression  of  a  mind  unable  to  con- 
centrate itself  strongly  in  the  channel  of  one  great  emotion 
or  belief,  —  an  expression  which  is  fatal  to  influence  over  an 
ardent  nature  like  Romola's.  Such  an  expression  is  not  the 
stamp  of  insincerity;  it  is  the  stamp  simply  of  a  shallow  soul, 
which  will  often  be  found  sincerely  striving  to  fill  a  high 
vocation,  sincerely  composing  its  countenance  to  the  utterance 
of  sublime  formulas,  but  finding  the  muscles  twitch  or  relax 
in  spite  of  belief,  as  prose  insists  on  coming  instead  of  poetry 
to  the  man  who  has  not  the  divine  frenzy.  Fra  Salvestro 
had  a  peculiar  liability  to  visions,  dependent  apparently  on  a 
constitution  given  to  somnambulism.  Savonarola  believed 
in  the  supernatural  character  of  these  visions,  while  Fra  Sal- 
vestro himself  had  originally  resisted  such  an  interpretation 
of  them,  and  liad  even  rebuked  Savonarola  for  his  prophetic 
preaching,  —  another  proof,  if  one  were  wanted,  that  the  rela- 
tive greatness  of  men  is  not  to  be  gauged  by  their  tendency 
to  disbelieve  the  superstitions  of  their  age ;  for  of  these  two 
there  can  be  no  question  which  was  the  great  man  and  which 
the  small. 

The  difference  between  them  was  measured  very 
accurately  by  the  change  in  Romola^s  feeling  as  Fra 
Salvestro  began  to  address  her  in  words  of  exhortation  and 


112  ROMOLA 

encouragement.  After  her  first  angry  resistance  of  Savonarola 
liad  passed  away,  she  liad  lost  all  remembrance  of  the  old  dread 
lest  any  influence  should  drag  her  within  the  circle  of  fanati- 
cism and  sour  monkish  piety.  But  now  again,  the  chill 
breath  of  that  dread  stole  over  her.  It  could  have  no  deci- 
sive effect  against  the  impetus  her  mind  had  just  received;  it 
was  only  like  the  closing  of  the  gray  clouds  over  the  sunrise, 
which  made  her  returning  path  monotonous  and  sombre. 

And  perhaps  of  all  sombre  paths  that  on  which  we  go 
back  after  treading  it  with  a  strong  resolution  is  the  one  that 
most  severely  tests  the  fervour  of  renunciation.  As  they 
re-entered  the  city  gates,  the  light  snow-flakes  fell  about 
them ;  and  as  the  gray  sister  walked  hastily  homeward  from 
the  Piazza  di  San  Marco,  and  trod  the  bridge  again,  and 
turned  in  at  the  large  door  in  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  her  foot- 
steps were  marked  darkly  on  the  thin  carpet  of  snow,  and  her 
cowl  fell  laden  and  damp  about  her  face. 

She  went  up  to  her  room,  threw  off  her  serge,  destroyed 
the  parting  letters,  replaced  all  her  precious  trifles,  un- 
bound her  hair,  and  put  on  her  usual  black  dress.  Instead 
of  taking  a  long  exciting  journey,  she  was  to  sit  down  in  her 
usual  place.  The  snow  fell  against  the  windows,  and  she 
was  alone. 

She  felt  the  dreariness,  yet  her  courage  was  high,  like 
that  of  a  seeker  who  has  come  on  new  signs  of  gold.  She  was 
going  to  thread  life  by  a  fresh  clew.  She  had  tlirown  all  tlie 
energy  of  her  will  into  renunciation.  The  empty  tabernacle 
remained  locked,  and  slie  placed  Dino^s  crucifix  outside  it. 

Nothing  broke  the  outward  monotony  of  her  solitary 
home,  till  the  night  came  like  a  white  ghost  at  the  windows. 
Yet  it  was  the  most  memorable  Christmas-eve  in  her  life  to 
Romola,  this  of  14<9'1. 


Pier  Capponi 


JJr\R  0    1)1     u/.V 

A.^mAscl-\  carijO  nil 


Dl  A 


^LmFuRTAJmLLAPATRl-i, 
'mcrrro  t/afi  2/  S^n^MCDXCPJ. 


u/ffi  ^r////-,.'  ft'/.'/^^/Zf /./-,•/.;»» /-4;^/,r-~K/,^?A,vv.(v,k^  ("/!»,..»«•(■ 


From  a  contemporary  portrait  pveserred  by  the  family 


BOOK    III 

CHAPTEE  XXII 

ROMOLA   IN    HER   PLACE 

IT  was  the  30th  of  October,  1496.  The  sky  that  morning 
was  clear  enough,  and  there  was  a  pleasant  autumnal 

breeze.  But  the  Florentines  just  then  thought  very  little 
about  the  land  breezes  :  they  were  thinking  of  the  gales  at 
sea,  which  seemed  to  be  uniting  with  all  other  powers  to 
disprove  the  Frate^s  declaration  that  Heaven  took  special  care 
of  Florence. 

For  those  terrible  gales  had  driven  away  from  the  coast 
of  Leghorn  certain  ships  from  Marseilles,  freighted  with 
soldiery  and  corn ;  and  Florence  was  in  the  direst  need,  first 
of  food,  and  secondly  of  fighting  men.  Pale  Famine  was 
in  her  streets,  and  her  territory  was  threatened  on  all  its 
borders. 

For  the  French  king,  that  new  Charlemagne,  who  had 
entered  Italy  in  anticipatory  triumph,  and  had  conquered 
Naples  without  the  least  trouble,  had  gone  away  again  fifteen 
months  ago,  and  was  even,  it  is  feared  in  his  grief  for  the  loss 
of  a  new-born  son,  losing  the  languid  intention  of  coming 
back  again  to  redress  grievances  and  set  the  Church  in  order. 
A  league  had  been  formed  against  him  —  a  Holy  League, 
with  Pojie  Borgia  at  its  head  —  to  "  drive  out  the  barbarians," 
who  still  garrisoned  tlie  fortress  of  Naples.  That  had  a  patri- 
otic sound ;  but,  looked  at  more  closely,  the  Holy  League 

VOL.    II. 8 


114  ROMOLA 

seemed  very  much  like  an  agreement  among  certain  wolves  to 
drive  away  all  otlier  wolves,  and  then  to  see  which  among 
themselves  could  snatch  the  largest  share  of  the  prey.  And 
there  was  a  general  disposition  to  regard  Florence  not  as  a 
fellow-wolf,  but  rather  as  a  desirable  carcass.  Florence, 
therefore,  of  all  the  chief  Italian  States,  had  alone  declined 
to  join  the  League,  adhering  still  to  the  French  alliance. 

She  had  declined  at  her  peril.  At  this  moment  Pisa, 
still  fighting  savagely  for  liberty,  was  being  encouraged  not 
only  by  strong  forces  from  Venice  and  Milan,  but  by  the 
presence  of  the  German  Emperor  Maximilian,  who  had  been 
invited  by  the  League,  and  was  joining  the  Pisans  with  such 
troops  as  he  had  in  the  attempt  to  get  possession  of  Leghorn, 
while  the  coast  was  invested  by  Venetian  and  Genoese  ships. 
And  if  Leghorn  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  woe 
to  Florence !  For  if  that  one  outlet  towards  the  sea  were 
closed,  hedged  in  as  she  was  on  the  land  by  the  bitter  ill-will 
of  the  Pope  and  the  jealousy  of  smaller  States,  how  could 
succour  reach  her? 

The  government  of  Florence  had  shown  a  great  heart  in 
this  urgent  need,  meeting  losses  and  defeats  with  vigorous 
efforts,  raising  fresh  money,  raising  fresh  soldiers,  but  not 
neglecting  the  good  old  method  of  Italian  defence,  —  con- 
ciliatory embassies.  And  while  the  scarcity  of  food  was  every 
day  becoming  greater,  they  had  resolved,  in  opposition  to  old 
precedent,  not  to  shut  out  the  starving  country  people,  and 
the  mendicants  driven  from  the  gates  of  other  cities,  who  came 
flocking  to  Florence  like  birds  from  a  land  of  snow. 

These  acts  of  a  government  in  which  the  disciples  of 
Savonarola  made  the  strongest  element  were  not  allowed  to 
pass  without  criticism.  The  disaffected  were  plentiful,  and 
they  saw  clearly  that  the  government  took  the  worst  course 
for  the  public  welfare.    Florence  ought  to  join  the  League  and 


ROMOLA   IN   HER  PLACE  115 

make  common  cause  with  the  other  great  ItaKan  States,  in- 
stead of  drawiog  down  their  hostility  by  a  futile  adherence  to 
a  foreign  ally.  Florence  ought  to  take  care  of  her  own  citi- 
zens, instead  of  opening  her  gates  to  famine  and  pestilence  in 
the  shape  of  starving  contadini  and  alien  mendicants. 

Every  day  the  distress  became  sharper :  every  day  the 
murmurs  became  louder.  And,  to  crown  the  difficulties  of 
the  government,  for  a  month  and  more,  —  in  obedience  to  a 
mandate  from  Eome,  —  Fra  Girolamo  had  ceased  to  preacii. 
But  on  the  arrival  of  the  terrible  news  that  the  ships  from 
Marseilles  had  been  driven  back,  and  that  no  corn  was  coming, 
the  need  for  the  voice  that  could  infuse  faith  and  patience  iiilo 
the  people  became  too  imperative  to  be  resisted.  In  defiance 
of  the  Papal  mandate  the  Signoria  requested  Savonarola  to 
preach.  And  two  days  ago  he  had  mounted  again  the  pulpit 
of  the  Duomo,  and  had  told  the  people  only  to  wait  and  be 
steadfast,  and  the  Divine  help  would  certainly  come. 

It  was  a  bold  sermon :  he  consented  to  have  his  frock 
stripped  off  him  if,  when  Florence  persevered  in  fulfilling  the 
duties  of  piety  and  citizenship,  God  did  not  come  to  her 
rescue. 

Yet,  at  present,  on  this  morning  of  the  30th,  there  were 
no  signs  of  rescue.  Perhaps  if  the  precious  Tabernacle  of  the 
Madonna  deir  Impruneta  were  brought  into  Florence  and 
carried  in  devout  procession  to  the  Duomo,  that  Motlier,  rich 
in  sorrows  and  therefore  in  mercy,  would  plead  for  the  suftering 
city  ?  For  a  century  and  a  half  there  were  records  how  the 
Florentines,  suffering  from  drought,  or  flood,  or  famine,  or 
pestilence,  or  the  threat  of  wars,  had  fetched  the  potent  image 
within  their  walls,  and  had  found  deliverance.  And  grateful 
honour  had  been  done  to  her  and  her  ancient  church  of 
L'Impruneta;  the  high  house  of  Buondelmonti,  patrons  of 
tho.  church,  had  to  guard  her  hidden  image  with  bare  sword  ; 


116  ROMOLA 

weal  til  had  been  poured  out  for  prayers  at  her  shrine,  for 
chautings  and  chapels  and  ever-burning  lights ;  and  lands  had 
been  added,  till  there  was  much  quarreling  for  the  privilege 
of  serving  her.  The  Florentines  were  deeply  convinced  of  her 
graciousness  to  them,  so  that  the  sight  of  her  tabernacle  within 
their  walls  was  like  the  parting  of  the  cloud,  and  the  proverb 
ran,  that  the  Florentines  had  a  Madonna  who  would  do  what 
they  pleased. 

When  were  they  in  more  need  of  her  pleading  pity  than 
now  ?  And  already,  the  evening  before,  the  tabernacle  con- 
taining the  miraculous  hidden  image  had  been  brought  with 
high  and  reverend  escort  from  Ulmpruneta,  the  privileged 
spot  six  miles  beyond  the  gate  of  San  Piero  that  looks 
towards  Rome,  and  had  been  deposited  in  the  church  of  San 
Gaggio,  outside  the  gate,  whence  it  was  to  be  fetched  in 
solemn  procession  by  all  the  fraternities,  trades,  and  authori- 
ties of  Florence. 

But  the  Pitying  Mother  had  not  yet  entered  within  the 
walls,  and  the  mornhig  arose  on  unchanged  misery  and  de- 
spondcaicy.  Pestilence  was  hovering  in  the  track  of  famine. 
Not  only  the  hospitals  were  full,  but  the  courtyards  of  private 
houses  had  been  turned  into  refuges  and  infirmaries ;  and  still 
there  was  unsheltered  want.  Aiid  early  this  morning,  as 
usual,  members  of  the  various  fraternities  who  made  it  ])art 
of  their  duty  to  bury  the  unfriended  dead,  were  bearing 
away  the  corpses  that  had  sunk  by  the  wayside.  As  usual, 
sweet  womanly  forms,  with  the  refined  air  and  carriage  of  the 
well-born,  but  in  the  plainest  garb,  were  moving  about  the 
streets  on  their  daily  errands  of  tending  the  sick  and  relieving 
the  hungry. 

One  of  these  forms  was  easily  distinguishable  as  Romola 
de'  Bardi.  Clad  in  the  sim])lest  garment  of  black  serge,  with 
a  plain  piece  of  black  drapery  drawn  over  her  head,  so  as  to 


ROMOLA   Ix\   HER   PLACE  117 

hide  all  her  hair,  except  the  bands  of  gold  that  rippled  apart 
on  her  brow,  she  was  advancing  from  the  Ponte  Vecchio 
towards  the  Por'  Santa  Maria  —  the  street  in  a  direct  line 
with  the  bridge,  —  when  she  found  her  way  obstructed  by  the 
pausing  of  a  bier,  which  was  being  carried  by  members  of  the 
company  of  San  Jacopo  del  Popolo,  in  search  for  the  unburied 
dead.  The  brethren  at  the  head  of  the  bier  were  stooping  to 
examine  something,  while  a  group  of  idle  workmen,  with 
features  paled  and  sharpened  by  hunger,  were  clustering  around 
and  all  talking  at  once. 

"  He  's  dead,  I  tell  you  !  Messer  Domeneddio  has  loved 
him  well  enough  to  take  him." 

"  Ah,  and  it  would  be  well  for  us  all  if  we  could  have 
our  legs  stretched  out  and  go  with  our  heads  two  or  three 
bracci  foremost !  It 's  ill  standing  upright  with  hunger  to 
prop  you." 

"  Well,  well,  he 's  an  old  fellow.  Death  has  got  a  poor 
bargain.     Life  's  had  the  best  of  hun." 

"  And  no  Florentine,  ten  to  one !  A  beggar  turned 
out  of  Siena.  San  Giovanni  defend  us  !  They  've  no  need 
of  soldiers  to  fight  us.  They  scud  us  an  army  of  starving 
men." 

"  No,  no  !  This  man  is  one  of  the  prisoners  turned  out 
of  the  Stinche.  I  know  by  the  gray  patch  where  the  prison 
badge  was." 

"  Keep  quiet  I  Lend  a  hand  !  Don't  you  see  the  breth- 
ren are  going  to  lift  him  on  the  bier  ?  " 

"  It 's  likely  he  's  alive  enough  if  he  could  only  look  it. 
The  soul  may  be  inside  him  if  it  had  only  a  drop  of  verriaccia 
to  warm  it." 

"  In  truth,  I  think  he  is  not  dead,"  said  one  of  the 
brethren,  when  they  had  hfted  him  on  the  bier.  "  He  has 
perhaps  only  sunk  down  for  want  of  food." 


118  ROMOLA 

"  Let  me  try  to  give  him  some  wine/'  said  Romola,  com- 
ing forward.  She  loosened  the  small  flask  which  she  carried 
at  her  belt,  and,  l^^aning  towards  the  prostrate  body,  with  a 
deft  hand  she  applied  a  small  ivory  implement  between  the 
teeth,  and  poured  into  the  mouth  a  few  drops  of  wine.  The 
stimulus  acted :  the  wine  was  evidently  swallowed.  She 
poured  more,  till  the  head  was  moved  a  little  towards  her,  and 
the  eyes  of  the  old  man  opened  full  upon  her  with  the  vague 
look  of  returning  consciousness. 

Then  for  the  first  time  a  sense  of  complete  recognition 
came  over  Romola.  Those  wild  dark  eyes  opening  in  the 
sallow  deep-lined  face,  with  the  white  beard,  which  was  now 
long  again,  were  like  an  unmistakable  signature  to  a  remem- 
bered handwriting.  The  light  of  two  summers  had  not  made 
that  image  any  fainter  in  Eomola's  memory :  the  image  of 
the  escaped  prisoner,  whom  she  had  seen  in  the  Duomo  the 
day  when  Tito  first  wore  the  armour, —  at  whose  grasp  Tito 
was  paled  with  terror  in  the  strange  sketch  she  had  seen  in 
Piero's  studio.  A  wretched  tremor  and  palpitation  seized  her. 
Now,  at  last,  perhaps,  she  was  gomg  to  know  some  secret  which 
might  be  more  bitter  than  all  that  had  gone  before.  She  felt 
an  impulse  to  dart  away  as  from  a  sight  of  horror ;  and  again, 
a  more  imperious  need  to  keep  close  by  the  side  of  this  old 
man,  whom,  the  divination  of  keen  feeling  told  her,  her  hus- 
band had  injured.  In  the  very  instant  of  this  conflict  she  still 
leaned  towards  him  and  kept  her  right  hand  ready  to  admin- 
ister more  wine,  while  her  left  was  passed  under  his  neck. 
Her  hands  trembled,  but  their  habit  of  soothing  helpfulness 
would  have  served  to  guide  them  without  the  direction  of  her 
thought. 

Baldassarre  was  looking  at  Aer  for  the  first  time.  The 
close  seclusion  in  which  Romola's  trouble  had  kept  her  in  the 
weeks  preceding  her  flight  and  his  arrest  had  denied  him 


The  Adoring  Angels,  by  Fra  Filippo  Lippi 


Part  of  a  fresco  in  the  Ancient  Gallery.  Florence 


ROMOLA   IN   HER  PLACE  119 

the  opportunity  he  had  sought  of  seeing  the  Wife  who  lived  in 
the  Via  de'  Bardi ;  and  at  this  moment  the  descriptions  he  had 
heard  of  the  fair  golden-haired  woman  were  all  gone^  like 
yesterday^s  waves. 

"Will  it  not  be  well  to  carry  him  to  the  steps  of  S:iii 
Stefano?"  said  Eomola.  "We  shall  cease  then  to  stop  up 
the  street,  and  you  can  go  on  your  way  with  your  bier." 

They  had  only  to  move  onward  for  about  thirty  yards 
before  reaching  the  steps  of  San  Stefano ;  and  by  this  time 
Baldassarre  was  able  himself  to  make  some  efforts  towards 
getting  off  the  bier,  and  propping  himself  on  the  steps  against 
the  church  doorway.  The  charitable  brethren  passed  on  ;  but 
the  group  of  interested  spectators,  who  had  nothing  to  do  and 
much  to  say,  had  considerably  increased.  Tlie  feeling  towards 
the  old  man  was  not  so  entirely  friendly  now  it  was  quite 
certain  that  he  was  alive,  but  the  respect  inspired  by  Romola's 
presence  caused  the  passing  remarks  to  be  made  in  a  rather 
more  subdued  tone  than  before. 

"  Ah,  they  gave  him  his  morsel  every  day  in  the  Stinche, 
—  that's  why  he  can't  do  so  well  without  it.  You  and  I, 
Cecco,  know  better  what  it  is  to  go  to  bed  fasting." 

"  Gnaffe  !  that 's  why  the  Magnificent  Eight  have  turned 
out  some  of  the  prisoners,  that  they  may  shelter  honest  people 
instead.  But  if  every  thief  is  to  be  brought  to  life  with  good 
wine  and  wheaten  bread,  we  Ciompi  had  better  go  and  fill 
ourselves  in  Arno  while  the  water's  plenty." 

Eomola  had  seated  herself  on  the  steps  by  Baldassarre, 
and  was  saying,  "  Can  you  eat  a  little  bread  now  ?  perhaps 
by-and-by  you  will  be  able,  if  I  leave  it  with  you.  I  must 
go  on,  because  I  have  promised  to  be  at  the  hospital.  But  I 
will  come  back,  if  you  will  wait  here,  and  then  I  will  take  you 
to  some  shelter.  Do  you  understand  ?  Will  you  wait  ?  I 
will  come  back." 


120  ROMOLA 

He  looked  dreamily  at  her,  and  repeated  her  words, 
"  come  back.'"  It  was  uo  wonder  that  his  mind  was  enfeebled 
by  his  bodily  exhaustion,  but  she  hoped  that  he  apprehended 
her  meaning.  She  opened  her  basket,  which  was  filled  with 
pieces  of  soft  bread,  and  put  one  of  the  pieces  into  his  hand. 

"  Do  you  keep  your  bread  for  those  that  can't  swallow, 
madonna  ?  "  said  a  rough-looking  fellow,  in  a  red  nightcap, 
who  had  elbowed  his  way  into  tlie  inmost  circle  of  spectators, 
—  a  circle  that  was  pressing  rather  closely  on  Romola. 

"  If  anybody  is  n't  hungry,**  said  another,  "  I  say,  let 
him  alone.  He  's  better  off  than  people  who  've  got  craving 
stomachs  and  no  breakfast." 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  if  a  man 's  a  mind  to  die,  it 's  a  time 
to  encourage  him,  instead  of  making  him  come  back  to  life 
against  his  will.     Dead  men  want  no  trencher.'* 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand  the  Frate's  charity,"  said 
a  young  man  in  an  excellent  cloth  tunic,  whose  face  showed 
no  signs  of  want.  "  The  Prate  has  been  preaching  to  the 
birds,  like  Saint  Anthony,  and  he's  been  telling  the  hawks 
they  were  made  to  feed  the  sparrows,  as  every  good  Floren- 
tine citizen  was  made  to  feed  six  starving  beggar  men  from 
Arezzo  or  Bologna.  Madonna,  there,  is  a  pious  Piagnone ; 
she 's  not  going  to  throw  away  her  good  bread  on  honest 
citizens  who  've  got  all  the  Prate's  prophecies  to  swallow." 

"Come,  madonna,"  said  he  of  the  red  cap,  "the  old 
thief  does  n't  eat  the  bread,  you  see ;  you  'd  better  try  us. 
We  fast  so  much,  we  're  half  saints  already." 

The  circle  had  narrowed  till  the  coarse  men  —  most  of 
them  gaunt  from  privation  —  had  left  hardly  any  margin 
round  Eomola.  She  had  been  taking  from  her  basket  a 
small  horn-cup,  into  which  she  put  the  piece  of  bread  and 
just  moistened  it  with  wine;  and  hitherto  she  had  not  ap- 
peared to  heed  them.     But  now  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and 


ROMOLA   IN   HER   PLACE  121 

looked  round  at  them.  Instinctively  the  men  who  were 
nearest  to  her  pushed  backward  a  little,  as  if  their  rude 
nearness  were  the  fault  of  those  behind.  Eomola  held  out 
the  basket  of  bread  to  the  man  in  the  nightcap,  looking  at 
him  without  anj  reproach  in  her  glance,  as  she  said,  — 

"  Hunger  is  hard  to  bear,  I  know,  and  you  have  the 
power  to  take  this  bread  if  you  will.  It  was  saved  for  sick 
women  and  children.  You  are  strong  men;  but  if  you  do 
not  choose  to  suffer  because  you  are  strong,  you  have  the 
power  to  take  everything  from  the  weak.  You  can  take  the 
bread  from  this  basket ;  but  I  shall  watch  by  this  old  man  ; 
I  shall  resist  your  taking  the  bread  from  him" 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  perfect  silence,  while 
Romola  looked  at  the  faces  before  her,  and  held  out  the 
basket  of  bread.  Her  own  pale  face  had  the  slightly  pinched 
look  and  the  deepening  of  the  eye-socket  which  indicates  un- 
usual fasting  in  the  habitually  temperate,  and  the  large  direct 
gaze  of  her  hazel  eyes  was  all  the  more  impressive. 

The  man  in  the  nightcap  looked  rather  silly,  and 
backed,  thrusting  his  elbow  into  his  neighbour's  ribs  with 
an  air  of  moral  rebuke.  The  backing  was  general,  every  one 
wishing  to  imply  that  he  had  been  pushed  forward  against 
his  will ;  and  the  young  man  in  the  fine  cloth  tunic  had 
disappeared. 

But  at  this  moment  the  armed  servitors  of  the  Signoria, 
who  had  begun  to  patrol  the  luie  of  streets  through  which 
the  procession  was  to  pass,  came  up  to  disperse  the  group 
which  was  obstructing  the  narrow  street.  The  man  ad- 
dressed as  Cecco  retreated  from  a  threatening  mace  up  the 
church  steps,  and  said  to  Romola,  in  a  respectful  tone,  — 

"  Madonna,  if  you  want  to  go  on  your  errands,  I  '11 
take  care  of  the  old  man." 

Cecco  was  a  wild-looking  figure :  a  very  ragged  tunic, 


122  ROMOLA 

made  shaggy  and  variegated  by  cloth-dust  and  chnging  frag- 
ments of  wool,  gave  relief  to  a  pair  of  bare  bouy  arms  and  a 
long  sinewy  neck :  his  square  jaw  shaded  by  a  bristly  black 
beard,  his  bridgeless  nose  and  low  forehead,  made  his  face 
look  as  if  it  had  been  crushed  down  for  purposes  of  packing, 
and  a  narrow  piece  of  red  rag  tied  over  his  ears  seemed  to 
assist  in  the  compression.  Eomola  looked  at  him  with  some 
hesitation. 

"  Don't  distrust  me,  madonna,*'  said  Cecco,  who  under- 
stood her  look  perfectly ;  "  I  am  not  so  pretty  as  you,  but  I  \e 
got  an  old  mother  wlio  eats  my  porridge  for  me.  What !  there 's 
a  heart  inside  me,  and  I  \e  bought  a  candle  for  the  most  Holy 
Virgin  before  now.  Besides,  see  tliere,  the  old  fellow  is  eat- 
ing his  sop.  He  's  hale  enough  :  he  '11  be  on  his  legs  as  well 
as  the  best  of  us  by-and-by." 

**  Thank  you  for  offering  to  take  care  of  him,  friend," 
said  Romola,  rather  penitent  for  her  doubting  glance.  Then 
leaning  to  Baldassarre,  she  said,  ''Pray  wait  for  me  till  I 
come  again." 

He  assented  with  a  slight  movement  of  the  head  and 
hand;  and  Romola  went  on  her  way  towards  the  hospital  of 
San  Matteo,  in  the  Piazza  di  San  Marco. 


The  Adoring  Angel-s,  b_v  Fra  Filippo  Lippi 


Pari  (if  a  fresco  in  the  AncUnt  Gallery,  Florence 


I 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    UNSEEN    MADONNA 

IN  returning  from  the  hospital,  more  than  an  hour  later, 
Eomola  took  a  different  road,  making  a  wider  circuit 

towards  the  river,  which  slie  reached  at  some  distance 
from  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  She  turned  her  steps  towards  that 
bridge,  intending  to  hasten  to  San  Stefano  in  search  of  Bal- 
dassarre.  She  dreaded  to  know  more  about  him,  yet  she  felt 
as  if,  in  forsaking  him,  she  would  be  forsaking  some  near 
claim  upon  her. 

But  when  she  approached  the  meeting  of  the  roads  where 
the  Por^  Santa  Maria  would  be  on  her  right  hand  and  the 
Ponte  Vecchio  on  her  left,  she  found  herself  involved  in  a 
crowd  who  suddenly  fell  on  their  knees ;  and  she  immediately 
knelt  with  them.  The  Cross  was  passing,  —  the  Great  Cross 
of  the  Duomo  —  which  headed  the  procession.  Eomola  was 
later  than  she  had  expected  to  be,  and  now  she  must  wait  till 
the  procession  had  passed.  As  she  rose  from  her  knees,  when 
the  Cross  had  disappeared,  the  return  to  a  standing  jjosture, 
with  nothing  to  do  but  gaze,  made  her  more  conscious  of  her 
fatigue  than  she  had  been  while  she  had  been  walking  and 
occupied.     A  shopkeeper  by  her  side  said, — 

"  Madonna  Eomola,  you  will  be  weary  of  standing  :  Gian 
Fantoni  will  be  glad  to  give  you  a  seat  in  his  house.  Here  is 
his  door  close  at  hand.  Let  me  open  it  for  you.  "Wliat !  he 
loves  God  and  the  Prate  as  we  do.     His  house  is  yours." 

Eomola  was  accustomed  now  to  be  addressed  in  this 
fraternal  way  by  ordinary  citizens,  whose  faces  were  familiar 


124  ROMOLA 

to  her  from  her  having  seen  them  constantly  in  the  Duomo. 
The  idea  of  home  had  come  to  be  identified  for  her  less  with 
the  house  in  the  Via  de'  Bardi^  where  she  sat  in  frequent  lone- 
liness, than  with  the  towered  circuit  of  Florence,  where  there 
was  hardly  a  turn  of  the  streets  at  which  she  was  not  greeted 
with  looks  of  appeal  or  of  friendliness.  She  was  glad  enough 
to  pass  through  the  open  door  on  her  right  hand  and  be  led 
by  the  fraternal  hose-vender  to  an  upstairs  window  where  a 
stout  woman  with  three  children,  all  in  the  plain  garb  of 
Piagnoni,  made  a  place  for  her  with  much  reverence  above  the 
bright  hanging  draperies.  From  this  corner  station  she  could 
see  not  only  the  procession  pouring  in  solemn  slowness  between 
the  lines  of  houses  on  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  but  also  the  river 
and  the  Lung'  Arno  on  towards  the  bridge  of  the  Santa 
Trinita. 

In  sadness  and  in  stillness  came  the  slow  procession. 
Not  even  a  wailing  chant  broke  the  silent  appeal  for  mercy  •, 
there  was  only  the  tramp  of  footsteps,  and  the  faint  sweep  of 
woollen  garments.  They  were  young  footsteps  that  were 
passing  when  Eomola  first  looked  from  the  window,  —  a 
long  train  of  the  Florentine  youth,  bearing  high  in  the  midst 
of  them  the  white  image  of  the  youthful  Jesus,  with  a  golden 
glory  above  his  head,  standing  by  the  tall  cross  where  the 
thorns  and  the  nails  lay  ready. 

After  that  train  of  fresh  beardless  faces  came  the  myste- 
rious-looking Companies  of  Discipline,  bound  by  secret  rules 
to  self-chastisement,  and  devout  praise,  and  special  acts  of 
piety ;  all  wearing  a  garb  which  concealed  the  whole  head  and 
face  except  the  eyes.  Every  one  knew  that  these  mysterious 
forms  were  Florentine  citizens  of  various  ranks,  who  might  be 
seen  at  ordinary  times  going  about  the  business  of  the  shop, 
the  counting-house,  or  the  State ;  but  no  member  now  was 
discernible   as   son,  husband,  or  father.     They  had  dropped 


6  rr 


THE   UNSEExN   MADONNA  125 

their  personality,  and  walked  as  symbols  of  a  common  vow. 
Eacli  company  had  its  colour  and  its  badge ;  but  the  garb  of 
all  was  a  complete  shroud,  and  left  no  expression  but  that  of 
fellowship. 

In  comparison  with  them,  the  multitude  of  monks  seemed 
to  be  strongly  distinguished  individuals,  hi  spite  of  the  com- 
mon tonsure  and  the  common  frock.  Eirst  came  a  white 
stream  of  reformed  Benedictines;  and  then  a  much  longer 
stream  of  the  Frati  Minori,  or  Pranciscans,  in  that  age  all 
clad  in  gray,  with  the  knotted  cord  round  their  waists,  and 
some  of  them  with  the  zoccoli,  or  wooden  sandals,  below  their 
bare  feet;  —  perhaps  the  most  numerous  order  in  Florence, 
owning  many  zealods  members  who  loved  mankind  and  hated 
the  Dominicans.  And  after  the  gray  came  the  black  of  the 
Atigustinians  of  San  Spirito,  with  more  cultured  human  faces 
above  it,  —  men  who  had  inherited  the  library  of  Boccaccio, 
and  had  made  the  most  learned  company  in  Florence  when 
learning  was  rarer ;  then  the  white  over  dark  of  the  Carmel- 
ites ;  and  then  again  the  unmixed  black  of  the  Servites,  that 
famous  Florentine  order  founded  by  seven  merchants  who 
forsook  their  gains  to  adore  the  Divine  Mother. 

And  now  the  hearts  of  all  on-lookers  began  to  beat 
a  little  faster,  either  with  hatred  or  with  love,  for  there  was 
a  stream  of  black  and  white  coming  over  the  bridge,  —  of 
black  mantles  over  white  scapularics ;  and  every  one  knew 
that  the  Dominicans  were  coming.  Those  of  Fiesole  passed 
first.  One  black  mantle  parted  by  white  after  another,  one 
tonsured  head  after  another,  and  still  expectation  was  sus- 
pended. They  were  very  coarse  mantles,  all  of  them,  and 
many  were  threadbare,  if  not  ragged ;  for  the  Prior  of  San 
Marco  had  reduced  the  fraternities  under  his  rule  to  the 
strictest  poverty  and  discipline.  But  in  the  long  line  of 
black  and  white  there  was  at  last  singled  out  a  mantle  only 


126  ROMOLA 

a  little  more  worn  than  the  rest,  with  a  tonsured  head  above 
it  which  might  not  have  appeared  supremely  remarkable  to 
a  stranger  who  had  not  seen  it  on  bronze  medals,  with  the 
sword  of  God  as  its  obverse;  or  surrounded  by  an  armed 
guard  on  the  way  to  the  Duomo ;  or  transfigured  by  the  in- 
ward flame  of  the  orator  as  it  looked  round  on  a  rapt 
multitude. 

As  the  approach  of  Savonarola  was  discerned,  none  dared 
conspicuously  to  break  the  stillness  by  a  sound  which  would 
rise  above  the  solemn  tramp  of  footsteps  and  the  faint  sweep 
of  garments;  nevertheless  his  ear,  as  well  as  other  ears, 
caught  a  mingled  sound  of  slow  hissing  that  longed  to  be 
curses,  and  murmurs  that  longed  to  be  blessings.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  sense  that  the  hissing  predominated  which  made 
two  or  three  of  his  disciples  in  the  foreground  of  the  crowd, 
at  the  meeting  of  the  roads,  fall  on  their  knees,  as  if  some- 
thing divine  were  passing.  The  movement  of  silent  homage 
spread :  it  went  along  the  sides  of  the  streets  like  a  subtle 
shock,  leaving  some  unmoved,  while  it  made  the  most  bend 
the  knee  and  bow  the  head.  But  the  hatred,  too,  gathered 
a  more  intense  expression ;  and  as  Savonarola  passed  up  the 
Por'  Santa  Maria,  Eomola  could  see  that  some  one  at  an 
upper  window  spat  upon  him. 

Monks  again  —  Frati  Umiliati,  or  Humbled  Brethren, 
from  Ognissanti,  with  a  glorious  tradition  of  being  the 
earliest  workers  in  the  wool-trade ;  and  again  more  monks  — 
Vallombrosan  and  other  varieties  of  Benedictines,  reminding 
the  instructed  eye  by  niceties  of  form  and  colour  that  in  ages 
of  abuse,  long  ago,  reformers  had  arisen  who  had  marked 
a  change  of  spirit  by  a  change  of  garb  ;  till  at  last  the  shaven 
crowns  were  at  an  end,  and  there  came  the  train  of  untonsured 
secular  priests. 

Then   followed    the   twenty-one   incorporated   Arts   of 


THE   UNSEEN   MADONNA  127 

Florence  in  long  array^  with  their  banners  floating  above 
them  in  proud  declaration  that  the  bearers  had  their  distinct 
functions  from  the  bakers  of  bread  to  the  judges  and  nota- 
ries. And  then  all  the  secondary  officers  of  State,  beginning 
with  the  less  and  going  on  to  the  greater,  till  the  line  of 
secularities  was  broken  by  the  Canons  of  the  Duomo,  carry- 
ing a  sacred  relic,  —  the  very  head,  enclosed  in  silver,  of  San 
Zenobio,  immortal  bishop  of  Florence,  whose  virtues  were 
held  to  have  saved  the  city  perhaps  a  thousand  years 
before. 

Here  was  the  nucleus  of  the  procession.  Behind  the 
relic  came  the  archbishop  in  gorgeous  cope,  with  canopy  held 
above  him ;  and  after  him  the  mysterious  hidden  Image,  — 
hidden  first  by  rich  curtains  of  brocade  enclosing  an  outer 
painted  tabernacle,  but  within  this,  by  the  more  ancient 
tabernacle  which  had  never  been  opened  in  the  memory  of 
livmg  men,  or  the  fathers  of  living  men.  In  that  inner 
shrine  was  the  image  of  the  Pitying  Mother,  found  ages  ago 
in  the  soil  of  L^Impruncta,  uttering  a  cry  as  the  spade  struck 
it.  Hitherto  the  unseen  Image  had  hardly  ever  been  carried 
to  the  Duomo  without  having  rich  gifts  borne  before  it. 
There  was  no  reciting  the  list  of  precious  offerings  made  by 
emulous  men  and  communities,  especially  of  veils  and  curtains 
and  mantles.  But  the  richest  of  all  these,  it  was  said,  had 
been  given  by  a  poor  abbess  and  her  nuns,  who,  having  no 
money  to  buy  materials,  wove  a  mantle  of  gold  brocade  witli 
their  prayers,  embroidered  it  and  adorned  it  with  their 
prayers,  and,  finally,  saw  their  work  presented  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin  in  the  great  piazza  by  two  beautiful  youths  who 
spread  out  white  whigs  and  vanished  in  the  blue. 

But  to-day  there  were  no  gifts  carried  before  the  taber- 
nacle: no  donations  were  to  be  given  to-day  except  to  the 
poor.     That  had  been  the   advice  of  Fra  Girolamo,  whose 


128  ROMOLA 

preaching  never  insisted  on  gifts  to  the  invisible  powers, 
but  only  on  help  to  visible  need  ;  and  altars  had  been  raised 
at  various  points  in  front  of  the  churches^  on  which  the  ob- 
lations for  the  poor  were  deposited.  Not  even  a  torch  was 
carried.  Surely  the  hidden  Mother  cared  less  for  torches  and 
brocade  than  for  the  Avail  of  the  hungry  people.  Florence 
was  in  extremity :  she  had  done  her  utmost,  and  could  only 
wait  for  something  divine  that  was  not  in  her  own  power. 

The  Prate  in  the  torn  mantle  had  said  that  help  would 
certainly  come,  and  many  of  the  faint-hearted  were  clinging 
more  to  their  faith  in  the  Prate's  word,  than  to  their  faith  in 
the  virtues  of  the  unseen  Image.  But  there  were  not  a  few 
of  the  fierce-hearted  who  thought  with  secret  rejoicing  that 
the  Prate's  word  miglit  be  proved  false. 

Slowly  the  tabernacle  moved  forward,  and  knees  were 
bent.  There  was  profound  stillness ;  for  the  train  of  j)riests 
and  chaplains  from  L'Impruneta  stirred  no  passion  in  the 
on-looters.  The  procession  was  about  to  close  with  the 
Priors  and  the  Gonfaloniere :  the  long  train  of  companies  and 
symbols  which  have  their  silent  music  and  stir  the  mind  as 
a  chorus  stirs  it,  was  passing  out  of  sight,  and  now  a  faint 
yearning  hope  was  all  that  struggled  with  the  accustomed 
despondency. 

Roniola,  v/liose  heart  had  been  swelling,  half  with  fore- 
boding, half  with  that  enthusiasm  of  fellowship  which  the 
life  of  the  last  two  years  had  made  as  habitual  to  her  as 
the  consciousness  of  costume  to  a  vain  and  idle  woman,  gave 
a  deep  sigh,  as  at  the  end  of  some  long  mental  tension,  and 
remained  on  her  knees  for  very  languor;  when  suddenly 
there  flashed  from  between  the  houses  on  to  the  distant  bridge 
something  bright-coloured.  In  the  instant  Eoraola  started 
up  and  stretched  out  her  arms,  leaning  from  the  window, 
while  the  black  drapery  fell  from  her  head,  and  the  golden 


^^^y 


.  -■  X 


„'!:.  «^  -^ 


v^\.: 


THE  UNSEEN   MADONNA  129 

gleam  of  her  hair  and  the  flush  in  her  face  seemed  the  effect 
of  one  illumination.  A  shout  arose  in  the  same  instant ;  the 
last  troops  of  the  procession  paused,  and  all  faces  were  turned 
towards  the  distant  bridge. 

But  the  bridge  was  passed  now :  the  horseman  was 
pressing  at  full  gallop  along  by  the  Arno ;  the  sides  of  his 
bay  horse,  just  streaked  with  foam,  looked  all  white  from 
swiftness  :  his  cap  was  flying  loose  by  his  red  becchetto,  and 
he  waved  an  olive-branch  in  his  hand.  It  was  a  messenger, 
—  a  messenger  of  good  tidings !  The  blessed  olive-branch 
spoke  afar  off.  But  the  impatient  people  could  not  wait. 
They  rushed  to  meet  the  on-comer,  and  seized  his  horse^s 
rein,  pushing  and  trampling. 

And  now  Homola  could  see  that  the  horseman  was  her 
husband,  who  had  been  sent  to  Pisa  a  few  days  before  on  a 
private  embassy.  The  recognition  brought  no  new  flash  of 
joy  into  her  eyes.  She  had  checked  her  first  impulsive  atti- 
tude of  expectation ;  but  her  governing  anxiety  was  still  to 
know  what  news  of  relief  had  come  for  Florence. 

"  Good  news  !  "  "  Best  news  !  "  "  News  to  be  paid  with 
hose  {novelle  da  calze)  !  "  ^  were  the  vague  answers  with  which 
Tito  met  the  importunities  of  the  crowd,  until  he  had  succeeded 
in  pushing  on  his  horse  to  the  spot  at  the  meeting  of  the  ways 
where  the  Gonfaloniere  and  the  Priors  were  awaiting  him. 
There  he  paused,  and  bowing  low,  said,  — 

"  Magnificent  Signori !  I  have  to  deliver  to  you  the  joy- 
ful news  that  the  galleys  from  Prance,  laden  with  corn  and 
men,  have  arrived  safely  in  the  port  of  Leghorn,  by  favour  of 
a  strong  wind,  which  kept  the  enemy's  fleet  at  a  distance.^^ 

The  words  had  no  sooner  left  Tito's  lips  than  they  seemed 
to  vibrate  up  the  streets.     A  great  shout  rang  through  the 

1  It  was  an  ancient  custom  to  give  a  pair  of  long  trunk  hose  to  the 
messenger  who  first  brought  a  welcome  piece  of  news.  —  Editor. 

VOL.    II.  —  9 


130  ROMOLA 

air,  and  rushed  along  tlic  river;  and  then  another,  and 
another;  and  the  shouts  were  heard  spreading  along  the  line 
of  the  procession  towards  the  Duomo ;  and  then  there  were 
fainter  answering  shouts,  like  the  intermediate  plash  of  distant 
waves  in  a  great  lake  whose  waters  obey  one  impulse. 

For  some  minutes  there  was  no  attempt  to  speak  further : 
the  Signoria  themselves  lifted  up  their  caps,  and  stood  bare- 
headed in  the  presence  of  a  rescue  which  had  come  from  out- 
side the  limit  of  their  own  power,  —  from  that  region  of  trust 
and  resignation  which  has  been  in  all  ages  called  divine. 

At  last,  as  the  signal  was  given  to  move  forward,  Tito 
said,  with  a  smile,  — 

"  I  ouglit  to  say  that  any  hose  to  be  bestowed  by  the 
Magnificent  Signoria  in  reward  of  these  tidings  are  due,  not 
to  me,  but  to  another  man  who  had  ridden  hard  to  bring  them, 
and  would  have  been  here  in  my  place  if  his  horse  had  not 
broken  down  just  before  he  reached  Signa.  Meo  di  Sasso 
will  doubtless  be  here  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  may  all  the 
more  justly  claim  the  glory  of  the  messenger,  because  he  has 
had  the  chief  labour  and  has  lost  the  chief  delight.'' 

It  was  a  graceful  way  of  putting  a  necessary  statement ; 
and  after  a  word  of  reply  from  the  Projoosto,  or  spokesman 
of  the  Signoria,  this  dignified  extremity  of  the  procession 
passed  on,  and  Tito  turned  his  horse's  head  to  follow  in  its 
train,  while  the  great  bell  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  was  already 
beginning  to  swing,  and  give  a  louder  voice  to  the  people's 

joy- 
In  that  moment,  when  Tito's  attention  had  ceased  to  be 
imperatively  directed,  it  might  have  been  expected  that  he 
would  look  round  and  recognize  Romola ;  but  he  was  appar- 
ently engaged  with  his  cap,  which,  now  the  eager  people  were 
leading  his  horse,  he  was  able  to  seize  and  place  on  his  head, 
while  his  right  hand  was  still  encumbered  by  the  olive-branch. 


II 


THE   UNSEEN   MADONNA  131 

He  had  a  becoming  air  of  lassitude  after  his  exertions ;  and 
Eomola,  instead  of  making  any  effort  to  be  recognized  by 
him,  threw  her  black  drapery  over  her  head  again,  and  re- 
mained perfectly  quiet.  Yet  she  felt  almost  sure  that  Tito 
had  seen  her;  he  had  the  power  of  seeing  everything  without 
seemiQg  to  see  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    VISIBLE    MADONNA 

THE  crowd  had  no  sooner  passed  onward  than  Romola 
descended  to  the  street,  and  hastened  to  the  steps  of 
San  Stefano.  Cecco  had  been  attracted  with  the  rest 
towards  the  piazza,  and  she  found  Baldassarre  standing  alone 
against  the  church  door,  with  the  horn-cup  in  his  hand,  wait- 
ing for  her.  There  was  a  striking  change  in  him :  the  blank, 
dreamy  glance  of  a  half-returned  consciousness  had  given 
place  to  a  fierceness  which,  as  she  advanced  and  spoke  to  him, 
flashed  upon  her  as  if  she  had  been  its  object.  It  was  the 
glance  of  caged  fury  that  sees  its  prey  passing  safe  beyond 
the  bars. 

Romola  started  as  the  glance  was  turned  on  her,  and  her 
immediate  thought  was  that  he  had  seen  Tito.  And  as  she 
felt  the  look  of  hatred  grating  on  her,  something  like  a  hope 
arose  that  this  man  might  be  the  criminal,  and  that  her  hus- 
band might  not  have  been  guilty  towards  him.  If  she  could 
learn  that  now,  by  bringing  Tito  face  to  face  with  him,  and 
have  her  mind  set  at  rest ! 

"  If  you  will  come  with  me,"  she  said,  "  I  can  give  you 
shelter  and  food  until  you  are  quite  rested  and  strong.  Will 
you  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Baldassarre,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  get 
my  strength.  I  want  to  get  my  strength,"  he  repeated, 
as  if  he  were  mutterijig  to  himself  ratlier  than  speaking 
to  her. 


I 


^7^^^" 


5*^ 


THE   VISIBLE   MADONNA  133 

"  Come !  "  she  said^  inviting  him  to  walk  by  her  side, 
and  taking  the  way  by  the  Aruo  towards  the  Ponte  Rubacontc 
as  the  more  private  road. 

"  I  think  you  are  not  a  Florentine/'  she  said  presently, 
as  they  turned  on  to  the  bridge. 

He  looked  round  at  her  without  speaking.  His  suspi- 
cious caution  was  more  strongly  upon  him  than  usual,  just 
now  that  the  fog  of  confusion  and  oblivion  was  made  denser 
by  bodily  feebleness.  But  she  was  looking  at  him  too,  and 
there  was  something  in  her  gentle  eyes  which  at  last  compelled 
him  to  answer  her.     But  he  answered  cautiously, — 

"  No,  I  am  no  Florentine ;  I  am  a  lonely  man.'* 

She  observed  his  reluctance  to  speak  to  her,  and  dared 
not  question  him  further,  lest  he  should  desire  to  quit  her. 
As  she  glanced  at  him  from  time  to  time,  her  mind  was  busy 
with  thoughts  which  quenched  the  faint  hope  that  there  was 
nothing  painful  to  be  revealed  about  her  husband.  If  this 
old  man  had  been  in  the  wrong,  where  was  the  cause  for  dread 
and  secrecy  ? 

They  walked  on  in  silence  till  they  reached  the  entrance 
into  the  Yia  de'  Bardi,  and  Romola  noticed  that  he  turned  and 
looked  at  her  with  a  sudden  movement  as  if  some  shock  had 
passed  through  him.  A  few  moments  after,  she  paused  at 
the  half-open  door  of  the  court  and  turned  towards  him. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said,  not  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  "  you  are 
his  wife.'' 

"  Wliose  wife  ?  "  said  Romola. 

It  would  have  been  impossible  for  Baldassarre  to  recall 
any  name  at  that  moment.  The  very  force  with  which  the 
image  of  Tito  pressed  upon  him  seemed  to  expel  any  verbal 
sign.  He  made  no  answer,  but  looked  at  her  with  strange 
fixedness. 

She  opened  the  door  wide,  and  showed  the  court  covered 


134  ROMOLA 

with  straw,  on  which  lay  four  or  five  sick  people,  while  some 
little  children  crawled  or  sat  on  it  at  their  ease,  —  tiny  pale 
creatures,  biting  straws  and  gurgling. 

"If  you  will  come  in,^'  said  Romola,  tremulously,  "I 
will  find  you  a  comfortable  place,  and  bring  you  some  more 
food/' 

"No,  I  will  not  come  in,"  said  Baldassarre.  But  he 
stood  still,  arrested  by  the  burden  of  impressions  under  which 
his  mind  was  too  confused  to  choose  a  course. 

"Can  I  do  nothing  for  you?"  said  Romola.  "Let  me 
give  you  some  money,  that  you  may  buy  food.  It  will  be 
more  plentiful  soon." 

She  had  put  her  hand  into  her  scarsella  as  she  spoke,  and 
held  out  her  palm  with  several  grossi  ^  in  it.  She  purposely 
offered  him  more  than  she  would  have  given  to  any  other  man 
in  the  same  circumstances.  He  looked  at  the  coins  a  little 
while,  and  then  said,  — 

"  Yes,  I  will  take  them." 

She  poured  the  coins  into  his  palm,  and  he  grasped  them 
tightly. 

"  Tell  me,^^  said  Romola,  almost  beseechmgly,  "  What 
shall  you  —  " 

But  Baldassarre  had  turned  away  from  her,  and  was 
walking  again  towards  the  bridge.  Passing  from  it,  straight 
on  up  the  Yia  del  Fosso,  he  came  upon  the  shop  of  Niccolb 
Caparra,  and  turned  towards  it  without  a  pause,  as  if  it  had 
been  the  very  object  of  his  search.  Niccolo  was  at  that  mo- 
ment in  procession  with  the  armourers  of  Florence,  and  there 
was  only  one  apprentice  in  the  shop.  But  there  were  all  sorts 
of  weapons  in  abundance  hanging  there,  and  Baldassarre's 

1  Giosso,  or  grossone,  was  a  small  coin  of  old  Florentine  money  of  the 
value  of  twenty-one  Tuscan  quattrini,  about  twenty-nine  ceatesimi  of  modern 
money.  —  Editob. 


THE   VISIBLE   MADONNA  135 

eyes  discerned  what  he  was  more  hungry  for  than  for  bread. 
Niccolo  himself  would  probably  have  refused  to  sell  anything 
that  might  serve  as  a  weapon  to  this  man  with  signs  of 
the  prison  on  him ;  but  the  apprentice,  less  observant  and 
scrupulous,  took  three  grossi  for  a  sharp  hunting-knife  witli- 
out  any  hesitation.  It  was  a  conveniently  small  weapon, 
which  Baldassarre  could  easily  thrust  within  the  breast  of  his 
tunic  ;  and  he  walked  on,  feeling  stronger.  That  sharp  edge 
might  give  deadliness  to  the  thrust  of  an  aged  arm :  at 
least  it  was  a  companion,  it  was  a  power  in  league  with 
him,  even  if  it  failed.  It  would  break  against  armour,  but 
was  the  armour  sure  to  be  always  there  ?  In  those  long 
months  while  vengeance  had  lain  in  prison,  baseness  had  per- 
haps become  forgetful  and  secure.  The  knife  had  been 
bought  with  the  traitor's  own  money.  That  was  just.  Be- 
fore he  took  the  money,  he  had  felt  what  he  should  do  with 
it,  —  buy  a  weapon.  Yes,  and  if  possible,  food  too, — food 
to  nourish  the  arm  that  would  grasp  the  weapon,  food  to 
nourish  the  body  which  was  the  temple  of  vengeance.  When 
he  had  had  enough  bread,  he  should  be  able  to  think  and 
act,  —  to  think  first  how  he  could  hide  himself,  lest  Tito 
should  have  him  dragged  away  again. 

With  that  idea  of  hiding  in  his  mind,  Baldassarre  turned 
up  the  narrowest  streets,  bought  himself  some  meat  and 
bread,  and  sat  down  under  the  first  loggia  to  eat.  The  bells 
that  swung  out  louder  and  louder  peals  of  joy,  laying  hold  of 
him  and  making  him  vibrate  along  with  all  the  air,  seemed  to 
him  simply  part  of  that  strong  world  wliich  was  against  him. 

Romola  had  watched  Baldassarre  until  he  had  disap- 
peared round  the  turning  into  the  Piazza  de'  Mozzi,  half 
feeling  that  his  departure  was  a  relief,  half  reproaching  her- 
self for  not  seeking  with  more  decision  to  know  the  truth 
about  him,  for  not  assuring  herself  whether  there  were  any 


136  llOMOLA 

guiltless  misery  in  his  lot  which  she  was  not  helpless  to  re- 
lieve. Yet  what  could  she  have  done  if  the  truth  had  proved 
to  be  the  burden  of  some  painful  secret  about  her  husband, 
in  addition  to  the  anxieties  that  already  weighed  upon  her  ? 
Surely  a  wife  was  permitted  to  desire  ignorance  of  a  hus- 
band's wrong-doing,  since  she  alone  must  not  protest  and 
warn  men  against  him.  But  that  thought  stirred  too  many 
intricate  fibres  of  feeling  to  be  pursued  now  in  her  weariness. 
It  was  a  time  to  rejoice,  since  help  had  come  to  Florence ; 
and  she  turned  into  the  court  to  tell  the  good  news  to  her 
patients  on  their  straw  beds. 

She  closed  the  door  after  her,  lest  the  bells  should 
drown  her  voice,  and  then  throwing  the  black  drapery  from 
her  head,  that  the  women  might  see  her  better,  she  stood  in 
the  midst  and  told  them  that  corn  was  coming,  and  that  the 
bells  were  ringing  for  gladness  at  the  news.  They  all  sat  up 
to  listen,  while  the  children  trotted  or  crawled  towards  her, 
and  pulled  her  black  skirts,  as  if  they  were  impatient  at 
being  all  that  long  way  off  her  face.  She  yielded  to  them, 
weary  as  she  was,  and  sat  down  on  the  straw,  while  the  little 
pale  things  peeped  into  her  basket  and  pulled  her  hair  down, 
and  the  feeble  voices  around  her  said,  "  The  Holy  Virgin  be 
praised  !  "  "  It  was  the  procession  !  "  "  The  Mother  of 
God  has  had  pity  on  us ! " 

At  last  Eomola  rose  from  the  heap  of  straw,  too  tired  to 
try  and  smile  any  longer,  saying  as  she  turned  up  the  stone 
steps,  — 

"  I  wlU  come  by-and-by,  to  bring  you  your  dinner." 

"  Bless  you,  madonna !  bless  you  !  "  said  the  faint 
chorus,  in  much  the  same  tone  as  that  in  which  they 
had  a  few  minutes  before  praised  and  thanked  the  unseen 
Madonna. 

Eomola  cared  a  great  deal  for  that  music.     She  had  no 


A  I'iNzocHERA,  or  a  sister,  belonging 
to  the  Order  of  St.   Francis 


^^^Hk?*'"— yj^^^^^- 

4  ^^H 

^^v        a^^^^^^K^ 

fly  .^1  JHBWfe 

#v            1 

HB 

.^-i^sHI^^BrHhhHSI^^^HHDf 

^ocnitcns  soli  tar la  cj  ^racisci 

THE   VISIBLE   MADONNA  137 

innate  taste  for  tending  the  sick  and  clothing  the  ragged,  like 
some  women  to  whom  the  details  of  such  work  are  welcome 
in  themselves,  simply  as  an  occupation.  Her  early  training 
had  kept  her  aloof  from  such  womanly  labours ;  and  if  she 
had  not  brought  to  them  the  inspiration  of  her  deepest  feel- 
ings, they  would  have  been  irksome  to  her.  But  they  had 
come  to  be  the  one  unshaken  resting-place  of  her  mind,  the 
one  narrow  pathway  on  which  the  light  fell  clear.  If  the 
gulf  between  herself  and  Tito  which  only  gathered  a  more 
perceptible  wideness  from  her  attempts  to  bridge  it  by  sub- 
mission, brought  a  doubt  whether,  after  all,  the  bond  to 
which  she  had  laboured  to  be  true  might  not  itself  be  false, 

—  if  she  came  away  from  her  confessor,  Fra  Salvestro,  or 
from  some  contact  with  the  disciples  of  Savonarola  among 
whom  she  worshipped,  with  a  sickening  sense  that  these 
people  were  miserably  narrow,  and  with  an  almost  impetu- 
ous reaction  towards  her  old  contempt  for  their  superstition, 

—  she  found  herself  recovering  a  firm  footing  hi  her  works 
of  womanly  sympathy.  Whatever  else  made  her  doubt,  the 
help  she  gave  to  her  fellow-citizens  made  her  sure  that  Fra 
Girolamo  had  been  right  to  call  her  back.  According  to  his 
unforgotten  words,  her  place  had  not  been  empty :  it  had 
been  filled  with  her  love  and  her  labour.  Florence  had  had 
need  of  her,  and  the  more  her  own  sorrow  pressed  upon  her, 
the  more  gladness  she  felt  in  the  memories,  stretching  through 
the  two  long  years  of  hours  and  moments  in  which  she  had 
lightened  the  burden  of  life  to  others.  All  that  ardour  of 
her  nature  which  could  no  longer  spend  itself  in  the  woman's 
tenderness  for  father  and  husband,  had  transformed  itself  into 
an  enthusiasm  of  sympathy  with  the  general  life.  She  had 
ceased  to  think  that  her  own  lot  could  be  happy,  —  had 
ceased  to  think  of  happiness  at  all :  the  one  end  of  her  hie 
seemed  to  her  to  be  the  diminishing?  of  sorrow. 


138  ROMOLA 

Her  enthusiasm  was  continually  stirred  to  fresh  vigour 
by  the  influence  of  Savonarola.  In  spite  of  the  wearisome 
visions  and  allegories  from  whicli  she  recoiled  in  disgust 
when  they  came  as  stale  repetitions  from  other  lips  than  his, 
her  strong  affinity  for  his  passionate  sympathy  and  the  splen- 
dour of  his  aims  had  lost  none  of  its  power.  His  burning 
indignation  against  the  abuses  and  oppression  that  made  the 
daily  story  of  the  Church  and  of  States  had  kindled  the  ready 
fire  in  her  too.  His  special  care  for  liberty  and  purity  of 
government  in  Florence,  with  his  constant  reference  of  this 
immediate  object  to  the  wider  end  of  a  universal  regenera- 
tion, had  created  in  her  a  new  consciousness  of  the  great 
drama  of  human  existence  in  which  her  life  was  a  part ;  and 
through  her  daily  helpful  contact  with  the  less  fortunate  of 
her  fellow-citizens  this  new  consciousness  became  something 
stronger  than  a  vague  sentiment;  it  grew  into  a  more  and 
more  definite  motive  of  self-denying  practice.  She  thought 
little  about  dogmas,  and  shrank  from  reflecting  closely  on 
the  Frate's  prophecies  of  the  immediate  scourge  and  closely 
following  regeneration.  She  had  submitted  her  mind  to  his, 
and  had  entered  into  communion  with  the  Church,  because 
in  this  way  she  had  found  an  immediate  satisfaction  for 
moral  needs  which  all  the  previous  culture  and  experience 
of  her  life  had  left  hungering.  Fra  Girolamo's  voice  had 
waked  in  her  mind  a  reason  for  living,  apart  from  personal 
enjoyment  and  personal  affection ;  but  it  was  a  reason  that 
seemed  to  need  feeding  with  greater  forces  than  she  pos- 
sessed within  herself,  and  her  submissive  use  of  all  ofiices 
of  the  Church  was  simply  a  watching  and  waiting  if  by  any 
means  fresh  strength  might  come.  The  pressing  problem 
for  Romola  just  then  was  not  to  settle  questions  of  contro- 
versy, but  to  keep  alive  that  flame  of  unselfish  emotion  by 
which  a  life  of  sadness  might  still  be  a  life  of  active  love. 


THE   VISIBLE   MADONNA  139 

Her  trust  in  Savonarola^s  nature  as  greater  than  her 
own  made  a  large  part  of  the  strength  she  had  found.  And 
the  trust  was  not  to  be  lightly  shaken.  It  is  not  force  of  in- 
tellect which  causes  ready  repulsion  from  the  aberration  and 
eccentricities  of  greatness,  any  more  than  it  is  force  of  vision 
that  causes  the  eye  to  explore  the  warts  on  a  face  bright  witli 
human  expression ;  it  is  simply  the  negation  of  high  sensibil- 
ities. Eomola  was  so  deeply  moved  by  the  grand  energies  of 
Savonarola's  nature,  that  she  found  herself  listening  patiently 
to  all  dogmas  and  prophecies,  when  they  came  in  the  vehicle 
of  his  ardent  faith  and  believing  utterance. 

No  soul  is  desolate  as  long  as  there  is  a  human  being  for 
whom  it  can  feel  trust  and  reverence.  Eomola's  trust  in 
Savonarola  was  something  like  a  rope  suspended  securely  by 
her  path,  making  her  step  elastic  w^hile  she  grasped  it :  if  it 
were  suddenly  removed,  no  firmness  of  the  ground  she  trod 
could  save  her  from  staggerhig,  or  perhaps  from  falling. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AT   THE    BAEBEr's    SHOP 

A  FTEE,  that  welcome  appearance  as  the  messenger  with 
/-%  the  olive-branchy  which  was  an  unpromised  favour  of 
fortune^  Tito  had  other  commissions  to  fulfil  of  a 
more  premeditated  character.  He  paused  at  the  Palazza 
Vecchioj  and  awaited  there  the  return  of  the  Ten,  who  man- 
aged external  and  war  affairs,  that  he  might  duly  deliver  to 
them  the  results  of  his  private  mission  to  Pisa,  intended  as  a 
preliminary  to  an  avowed  embassy  of  which  Bernardo  Rucellai 
was  to  be  the  head,  with  the  object  of  coming,  if  possible,  to 
a  pacific  understanding  with  the  Emperor  Maximilian  and  the 
League. 

Tito's  talents  for  diplomatic  work  had  been  well  ascer- 
tained ;  and  as  he  gave  with  fulness  and  precision  the  results 
of  his  inquiries  and  interviews,  Bernardo  del  Nero,  who  was 
at  that  time  one  of  the  Ten,  could  not  withhold  his  admiration. 
He  would  have  withheld  it  if  he  could ;  for  his  original  dislike 
of  Tito  had  returned,  and  become  stronger,  since  the  sale  of 
the  library.  Romola  had  never  uttered  a  word  to  her  god- 
father on  the  circumstances  of  the  sale,  and  Bernardo  had 
understood  her  silence  as  a  prohibition  to  him  to  enter  on  the 
subject ;  but  he  felt  sure  that  the  breach  of  her  father's  wish 
had  been  a  blighting  grief  to  her,  and  the  old  man's  observant 
eyes  discerned  other  hidications  that  lier  married  life  was  not 
happy. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  inwardly,  ''  that  doubtless  is  the  reason 
she  has  taken  to  listening  to  Fra  Girolamo,  and  going  among 


A  VIEW  of  Fiesole  and  the  hills 
outside  Porta  a  San  Gallo 


wr 


I 


^■m-:^'^^* 


From  tilt  ilrawing  by  Bartolommeo 
Jiustichi,  ffteenin  ctntury 


AT  THE   BARBER^S   SHOP  141 

the  Piagnoni^  which  I  never  expected  from  her.  These 
women,  if  they  are  not  happy,  and  have  no  cljildren,  must 
either  take  to  folly  or  to  some  overstrained  religion  that  makes 
them  think  they  '\e  got  all  heaven's  work  on  their  shoulders. 
And  as  for  my  poor  child  Romola,  it  is  as  I  always  said,  —  the 
cramming  with  Latin  and  Greek  has  left  her  as  much  a  woman 
as  if  she  had  done  nothing  all  day  but  prick  her  fingers  with 
the  needle.  And  this  husband  of  hers,  who  gets  employed 
everywhere,  because  he  's  a  tool  witli  a  smooth  handle,  I  wish 
Tornabuoni  and  the  rest  may  not  find  their  fingers  cut.  Well, 
well,  solco  torfo,  sacco  dritto,  —  many  a  full  sack  comes  from 
a  crooked  furrow;  and  he  who  will  be  captain  of  none  but 
honest  men  will  have  small  hire  to  pay.'' 

With  this  long-established  conviction  that  there  could  be 
no  moral  sifting  of  political  agents,  the  old  Plorentine  abstained 
from  all  interference  in  Tito's  disfavour.  Apart  from  what 
must  be  kept  sacred  and  private  for  Eomola's  sake,  Bernardo 
had  nothing  direct  to  allege  against  the  useful  Greek,  except 
that  he  was  a  Greek,  and  that  he,  Bernardo,  did  not  like  him  ; 
for  the  doubleness  of  feigning  attachment  to  the  popular  gov- 
ernment, while  at  heart  a  Medicean,  was  common  to  Tito  with 
more  than  half  of  the  Medicean  party.  He  only  feigned  with 
more  skill  than  the  rest :  tliat  was  all.  So  Bernardo  was 
simply  cold  to  Tito,  who  returned  the  coldness  with  a  scrupu- 
lous, distant  respect.  And  it  was  still  the  notion  in  Florence 
that  the  old  tie  between  Bernardo  and  Bardo  made  any  ser- 
vice done  to  Romola's  husband  an  acceptable  homage  to  her 
godfather. 

After  delivering  himself  of  his  charge  at  the  Old  Palace, 
Tito  felt  that  the  avowed  official  work  of  the  day  was  done. 
He  was  tired  and  adust  with  long  riding ;  but  he  did  not  go 
home.  There  were  certain  things  in  his  scarsella  and  on  his 
mind  from    which   he   wished   to    free    himself  as  soon  as 


142  ROMOLA 

possible,  but  the  opportunities  must  be  found  so  skilfully  that 
they  must  iwt  seem  to  be  sought.  He  walked  from  the 
Palazzo  in  a  sauntering  fashion  towards  the  Piazza  del  Duomo. 
The  procession  was  at  an  end  now,  but  the  bells  were  still 
ringing,  and  the  people  were  moving  about  the  streets  rest- 
lessly, longing  for  some  more  definite  vent  to  their  joy.  If 
the  Prate  could  have  stood  up  in  the  great  piazza  and  preached 
to  them,  they  might  have  been  satisfied ;  but  now,  in  spite  of 
the  new  discipline  which  declared  Christ  to  be  the  special 
King  of  the  Florentines,  and  required  all  pleasures  to  be  of  a 
Christian  sort,  there  was  a  secret  longing  in  many  of  the 
youngsters  who  shouted  "  Viva  Gesii ! "  for  a  little  vigorous 
stone-throwing  in  sign  of  thankfulness. 

Tito,  as  he  passed  along,  could  not  escape  being  recog- 
nized by  some  as  the  welcome  bearer  of  the  olive-branch,  and 
could  only  rid  himself  of  an  inconvenient  ovation,  chiefly  in 
the  form  of  eager  questions,  by  telling  those  who  pressed  on 
him  that  Meo  di  Sasso,  the  true  messenger  from  Leghorn, 
must  now  be  entering,  and  might  certainly  be  met  towards 
the  Porta  San  Prediano.  He  could  tell  much  more  than  Tito 
knew. 

Freeing  himself  from  importunities  in  this  adroit  manner, 
he  made  his  way  to  the  Piazza  del  Duomo,  casting  his  long  eyes 
round  the  space  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  carelessness,  but 
really  seeking  to  detect  some  presence  which  might  furnish 
him  with  one  of  his  desired  opportunities.  The  fact  of  the 
procession  having  terminated  at  the  Duomo  made  it  probable 
that  there  would  be  more  than  the  usual  concentration  of 
loungers  and  talkers  in  the  piazza  and  round  Nello^s  shop. 
It  was  as  he  expected.  There  was  a  group  leaning  against 
the  rails  near  the  north  gates  of  the  baptistery,^  so  exactly 
what  he  sought  that  he  looked  more  indifferent  than  ever,  and 
1  Tlie  rails  in  front  of  S.  Giovanni  did  not  exist  at  this  period.  —  Editor. 


AT  THE   BARBER^S   SHOP  143 

seemed  to  recognize  the  tallest  member  of  the  group  entirely 
by  chance  as  he  had  half  passed  him,  just  turning  his  head 
to  give  him  a  slight  greeting,  while  he  tossed  the  end  of  his 
becchetto  over  his  left  shoulder. 

Yet  the  tall,  broad-shouldered  personage  greeted  in  that 
slight  way  looked  like  one  who  had  considerable  claims.  He 
wore  a  richly  embroidered  tunic,  with  a  great  show  of  linen, 
after  the  newest  French  mode,  and  at  his  belt  there  hung  a 
sword  and  poniard  of  fine  workmanship.  His  hat,  with  a  red 
plume  in  it,  seemed  a  scornful  protest  against  the  gravity  of 
Florentine  costume,  which  had  been  exaggerated  to  the  utmost 
under  the  influence  of  the  Piagnoni.  Certain  undefinable  in- 
dications of  youth  made  the  breadth  of  his  face  and  the  large 
diameter  of  his  waist  ajjpear  the  more  emphatically  a  stamp 
of  coarseness,  and  his  eyes  had  that  rude  desecrating  stare  at 
all  men  and  things  which  to  a  refined  mind  is  as  intolerable 
as  a  bad  odour  or  a  flaring  light. 

He  and  his  companions,  also  young  men  dressed  expen- 
sively and  wearing  arms,  were  exchanging  jokes  with  that 
sort  of  ostentatious  laughter  which  implies  a  desire  to  prove 
that  the  laughter  is  not  mortified,  though  some  people  might 
suspect  it.  There  were  good  reasons  for  such  a  suspicion ; 
for  this  broad-shouldered  man  with  the  red  feather  was  Dolfo 
Spini,  leader  of  the  Compagnacci,  or  Evil  Companions,  — 
that  is  to  say,  of  all  the  dissolute  young  men  belonging  to 
the  old  aristocratic  party,  enemies  of  the  Mediceans,  enemies 
of  the  popular  government,  but  still  more  bitter  enemies  of 
Savonarola.  Dolfo  Spini,  heir  of  the  great  house  with  the 
loggia,  over  the  bridge  of  the  Santa  Trinita,  had  organized 
these  young  men  into  an  armed  band,  as  sworn  champions  of 
extravagant  suppers  and  all  the  pleasant  sins  of  the  flesh, 
against  reforming  pietists  who  threatened  to  make  the  world 
chaste  and  temperate  to  so  intolerable  a  degree  that  there 


144  ROMOLA 

would  soon  be  no  reason  for  living,  except  tlie  extreme  un- 
pleasantness of  the  alternative.  Up  to  this  very  morning  he 
had  been  loudly  declaring  that  Tlorenee  was  given  up  to 
famine  and  ruin  entirely  through  its  blind  adherence  to  the 
advice  of  the  Frate,  and  that  there  could  be  no  salvation  for 
Florence  but  in  joining  the  League  and  driving  the  Frate 
out  of  the  city,  —  sending  him  to  Eome,  in  fact,  whither  he 
ought  to  have  gone  long  ago  in  obedience  to  the  summons 
of  the  Pope.  It  was  suspected,  therefore,  that  Messer  Dolfo 
Spiiii^s  heart  was  not  aglow  with  pure  joy  at  the  unexpected 
succours  which  had  come  in  apparent  fulfilment  of  the 
Frate's  prediction  ;  and  the  laughter,  which  was  ringing  out 
afresh  as  Tito  joined  the  group  at  Nello's  door,  did  not  serve 
to  dissipate  the  suspicion.  For  leaning  against  the  door- 
post in  the  centre  of  the  group  was  a  close-shaven,  keen-eyed 
personage,  named  Niccolo  Macchiavelli,  who,  young  as  he 
was,  had  penetrated  all  the  small  secrets  of  egoism. 

"  Messer  Dolfo's  head,"  he  was  saying,  "  is  more  of  a 
pumpkin  than  I  thought.  I  measure  men's  dulness  by  the 
devices  they  trust  in  for  deceiving  others.  Your  dullest 
animal  of  all  is  he  who  grins  and  says  he  does  n't  mind  just 
after  he  has  had  his  sliins  kicked.  If  I  were  a  trifle  duller, 
now,"  he  went  on,  smiling  as  the  circle  opened  to  admit  Tito, 
"  I  should  pretend  to  be  fond  of  this  Melema,  who  has  got  a 
secretaryship  that  would  exactly  suit  me,  —  as  if  Latin  ill-paid 
could  love  better  Latin  that 's  better  paid  !  Melema,  you  are 
a  pestiferously  clever  fellow,  very  much  in  my  way,  and  I  'm 
sorry  to  hear  you  've  had  another  piece  of  good-luck  to-day." 

"  Questionable  luck,  Niccolo,"  said  Tito,  touching  him 
on  the  shoulder  in  a  frieruUy  way  ;  "  I  have  got  nothing  by 
it  yet  but  being  laid  hokl  of  and  breathed  upon  by  wool- 
beaters,  when  I  am  as  soiled  and  battered  with  riding  as  a 
tabellario  (letter-carrier)  from  Bologna." 


The  palace  built  for  Bernardo  Rucellai 
by  Leon  Battista  Albert! 


AT  THE   BARBER^S   SHOP  145 

"  Ah  !  you  want  a  touch  of  my  art,  Messer  Oratore," 
said  Nello,  who  had  come  forward  at  the  sound  of  Tito's 
voice ;  "  your  chin,  I  perceive,  has  yesterday's  crop  upon  it. 
Come,  come, —  consign  yourself  to  the  priest  of  all  the  Muses. 
Sandro,  quick  with  the  lather  !  '* 

"  In  truth,  Nello,  that  is  just  what  I  most  desire  at  this 
moment,"  said  Tito,  seating  himself ;  "  and  that  was  why 
I  turned  my  steps  towards  thy  shop,  instead  of  going  home 
at  once,  when  I  had  done  my  business  at  the  Palazzo." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  it  is  not  fitting  that  you  should  present 
yourself  to  Madonna  Eomola  with  a  rusty  chin  and  a  tangled 
zazzera.  Nothing  that  is  not  dainty  ought  to  approach  the 
Florentine  lily;  though  I  see  her  constantly  going  about 
like  a  sunbeam  among  the  rags  that  line  our  comers,  —  if 
indeed  she  is  not  more  like  a  moonbeam  now,  for  I  thought 
yesterday,  when  I  met  her,  that  she  looked  as  pale  and  worn 
as  that  fainting  Madonna  of  Fra  Giovanni's.  You  must  see 
to  it,  my  bel  erudito :  she  keeps  too  many  fasts  and  vigils 
in  your  absence." 

Tito  gave  a  melancholy  shrug.  "  It  is  too  true,  Nello. 
She  has  been  depriving  herself  of  half  her  proper  food  every 
day  during  this  famine.  But  what  can  I  do?  Her  mind 
has  been  set  all  aflame.  A  husband's  influence  is  powerless 
against  the  Prate's." 

"  As  every  other  influence  is  likely  to  be,  that  of  the 
Holy  Pather  included,"  said  Domenico  Cennini,  one  of  the 
group  at  the  door,  who  had  turned  in  with  Tito.  "  I  don't 
know  whether  you  have  gatliered  anytliing  at  Pisa  about  the 
way  the  wind  sits  at  Rome,  Melema  ?" 

"  Secrets  of  the  council  chamber,  IMesser  Domenico  !  " 
said  Tito,  smiling  and  opening  his  palms  in  a  depreca- 
tory manner.  "  An  envoy  must  be  as  dumb  as  a  father 
confessor." 

VOL.   II.  — 10 


146  ROMOLA 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Cennini,  "  I  ask  for  no 
breach  of  that  rule.  Well,  my  belief  is,  that  if  his  Holiness 
were  to  drive  Fra  Girolamo  to  extremity,  the  Frate  would 
move  heaven  and  earth  to  get  a  General  Council  of  the  Church, 
—  ay,  and  would  get  it  too ;  and  I,  for  one,  should  not  be 
sorry,  though  I  am  no  Piagnone." 

"  With  leave  of  your  greater  experience,  Messer  Dome- 
nico,"  said  Macchiavelli,  "I  must  differ  from  you,  —  not  in 
your  wish  to  see  a  General  Council  which  might  reform  the 
Church,  but  in  your  belief  that  the  Frate  will  checkmate  his 
Holiness.  The  Frate^s  game  is  an  impossible  one.  If  he 
had  contented  himself  with  preaching  against  the  vices  of 
Rome,  and  with  prophesying  that  in  some  way,  not  men- 
tioned, Italy  would  be  scourged,  depend  upon  it  Pope  Alex- 
ander would  have  allowed  him  to  spend  his  breath  in  that 
way  as  long  as  he  could  find  hearers.  Such  spiritual  blasts 
as  those  knock  no  walls  down.  But  the  Frate  wants  to  be 
something  more  than  a  spiritual  trumpet :  he  wants  to  be  a 
lever,  and  what  is  more,  he  is  a  lever.  He  wants  to  spread 
the  doctrine  of  Christ  by  maintaining  a  popular  government 
in  Florence,  and  the  Pope,  as  I  know,  on  the  best  authority, 
has  private  views  to  the  contrary." 

"Then  Florence  will  stand  by  the  Frate,"  Cennini  broke 
in,  with  some  fervour.  "  I  myself  should  prefer  that  he 
would  let  his  prophesying  alone ;  but  if  our  freedom  to 
choose  our  own  government  is  to  be  attacked  —  I  am  an  obe- 
dient son  of  the  Church,  but  I  would  vote  for  resisting  Pope 
Alexander  the  Sixth,  as  our  forefathers  resisted  Pope  Gregory 
the  Eleventh." 

"  But  pardon  me,  Messer  Domenico,"  said  Macchiavelli, 
sticking  his  thumbs  into  his  belt,  and  speaking  with  that 
cool  enjoyment  of  ex])osition  wliich  surmounts  every  other 
force  in  discussion.     "  Have  you  correctly  seized  the  Prate's 


AT  THE   BARBER'S   SHOP  147 

position  ?  How  is  it  that  lie  has  become  a  lever,  and  made 
himself  worth  attacking  by  an  acute  man  like  his  Holiness  ? 
Because  he  has  got  the  ear  of  the  people  :  because  he  gives 
them  threats  and  promises,  which  they  believe  come  straight 
from  God,  not  only  about  hell,  purgatory,  and  paradise,  but 
about  Pisa  and  our  Great  Council.  But  let  events  go  against 
him,  so  as  to  shake  the  people's  faith,  and  the  cause  of  his 
power  will  be  the  cause  of  his  fall.  He  is  accumulating 
three  sorts  of  hatred  on  his  head,  —  the  hatred  of  average 
mankind  against  every  one  who  wants  to  lay  on  them  a  strict 
yoke  of  virtue ;  the  hatred  of  the  stronger  powers  in  Italy 
who  want  to  farm  Florence  for  their  own  purposes ;  and  the 
hatred  of  the  people,  to  whom  he  has  ventured  to  promise 
good  in  this  world,  instead  of  confining  his  promises  to  the 
next.  If  a  prophet  is  to  keep  his  power,  he  must  be  a 
prophet  like  Mahomet,  with  an  army  at  his  back,  that  when 
the  people's  faith  is  fainting  it  may  be  frightened  into  life 
again." 

"  Rather  sum  up  the  three  sorts  of  hatred  in  one,"  said 
Prancesco  Cei,  impetuously,  "  and  say  he  has  won  the  hatred 
of  all  men  who  have  sense  and  honesty,  by  inventing  hypo- 
critical lies.  His  proper  place  is  among  the  false  proph- 
ets in  the  Inferno,  who  walk  with  their  heads  turned 
hindforemost." 

"  You  are  too  angry,  my  Prancesco,"  said  Macchiavelli, 
smiling ;  "  you  poets  are  apt  to  cut  the  clouds  in  your  wrath. 
I  am  no  votary  of  tlie  Prate's,  and  would  not  lay  down  my 
little  finger  for  his  veracity.  But  veracity  is  a  plant  of  para- 
dise, and  the  seeds  have  never  flourished  beyond  the  walls. 
You  yourself,  my  Prancesco,  tell  poetical  lies  only ;  partly 
compelled  by  the  poet's  fervour,  partly  to  please  your  audi- 
ence ;  but  you  object  to  lies  in  prose.  Well,  the  Prate  differs 
from  you  as  to  the  boundary  of  poetry,  that  is  all.    When  he 


148  ROMOLA 

gets  iuto  the  pulpit  of  the  Duomo,  lie  has  the  fervour  within 
him,  and  without  him  he  has  the  audience  to  please.    Ecco  !  " 

"  You  are  somewhat  lax  tliere,  Niccolo/'  said  Cennini, 
gravely.  "  I  myself  believe  in  the  Frate's  integrity,  though 
I  don^t  believe  in  his  prophecies ;  and  as  long  as  his  integrity 
is  not  disproved,  we  have  a  popular  party  strong  enough  to 
protect  him  and  resist  foreign  interference." 

"  A  party  that  seems  strong  enough,"  said  Macchiavelli, 
with  a  shrug,  and  an  almost  imperceptible  glance  towards 
Tito,  who  was  abandoning  himself  with  much  enjoyment  to 
Nello's  combing  and  scenting.  "  But  how  many  Mediceans 
are  there  among  you  ?  How  many  who  will  not  be  turned 
round  by  a  private  grudge?" 

"  As  to  the  Mediceans,"  said  Cennini,  "  I  believe  there 
is  very  little  genuine  feeling  left  on  behalf  of  the  Medici. 
Who  would  risk  much  for  Piero  de^  Medici  ?  A  few  old 
stanch  friends,  perhaps,  like  Bernardo  del  Nero ;  but  even 
some  of  those  most  connected  with  the  family  are  hearty 
friends  of  the  popular  government,  and  would  exert  them- 
selves for  the  Frate.  I  was  talking  to  Giannozzo  Pucci  only 
a  little  while  ago,  and  I  am  convinced  there's  nothing  he 
would  set  his  face  against  more  than  against  any  attempt  to 
alter  the  new  order  of  things." 

"  You  are  right  there,  Messer  Domenico,"  said  Tito,  with 
a  laughing  meaning  in  his  eyes,  as  he  rose  from  the  shaving- 
chair  j  "  and  I  fancy  the  tender  passion  came  in  aid  of  hard 
theory  there.  I  am  persuaded  there  was  some  jealousy  at  the 
bottom  of  Giannozzo's  alienation  from  Piero  de^  Medici ;  else 
so  amiable  a  creature  as  he  would  never  feel  the  bitterness  he 
sometimes  allows  to  escape  him  in  that  quarter.  He  was  in 
the  procession  with  you,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Cennini ;  "  he  is  at  his  villa,  —  went  there 
three  days  ago." 


AT  THE   BARBER'S   SHOP  149 

Tito  was  settling  his  cap  and  glancing  down  at  his 
splashed  hose  as  if  he  hardly  heeded  the  answer.  In  reality 
he  had  obtained  a  much-desired  piece  of  information.  He  had 
at  that  moment  in  his  scarsella  a  crushed  gold  ring  which  he 
had  engaged  to  deliver  to  Giannozzo  Pucci.  He  had  received 
it  from  an  envoy  of  Piero  de'  Medici,  whom  he  had  ridden  out 
of  his  way  to  meet  at  Certaldo  on  the  Siena  road.  Since 
Pucci  was  not  in  the  town,  he  would  send  the  ring  by  Pra 
Michele,  a  Carthusian  lay  Brother  in  the  service  of  the  Medi- 
ceans ;  and  the  receipt  of  that  sign  would  bring  Pucci  back 
to  hear  the  verbal  part  of  Tito^s  mission. 

"  Behold  him ! "  said  Nello,  flourishing  his  comb  and 
pointing  it  at  Tito,  "  the  handsomest  scholar  in  the  world  or 
in  the  wolds,  now  he  has  passed  through  my  hands  !  A 
trifle  thinner  in  the  face,  though,  than  when  he  came  in  his 
first  bloom  to  Florence,  —  eh?  and,  I  vow,  there  are  some 
lines  just  faintly  hinting  themselves  about  your  mouth,  Messer 
Oratore  !  Ah,  mind  is  an  enemy  to  beauty  !  I  myself  was 
thought  beautiful  by  the  women  at  one  time,  —  when  I  was 
in  my  swaddling-bands.  But  now  —  oime !  I  carry  my 
unwritten  poems  in  cipher  on  my  face ! " 

Tito,  laughing  with  the  rest  as  Nello  looked  at  himself 
tragically  in  the  hand-mirror,  made  a  sign  of  farewell  to  the 
company  generally,  and  took  his  departure. 

"  I  'm  of  our  old  Piero  di  Cosimo's  mind/'  said  Francesco 
Cei.  " I  dont  half  like  Melema.  That  trick  of  smiling  gets 
stronger  than  ever,  —  no  wonder  he  has  lines  about  the 
mouth.*' 

"  He 's  too  successful,"  said  ]\[acchiavelli,  playfully. 
"  I  'm  sure  there 's  something  wrong  about  him,  else  he 
wouldn't  have  that  secretaryship." 

"  He 's  an  able  man,"  said  Ccnnini,  in  a  tone  of  judicial 
fairness.     "  I  and  my  brother  have  always  found  him  useful 


150  ROMOLA 

with  our  Greek  sheets,  and  he  gives  great  satisfaction  to  the 
Ten.  I  like  to  see  a  young  man  work  his  way  upward  by 
merit.  And  the  secretary  Scala,  who  befriended  him  from  the 
first,  thinks  highly  of  him  still,  I  know.'' 

"  Doubtless,"  said  a  notary  in  the  background.  "  He 
writes  Scala's  official  letters  for  him,  or  corrects  them,  and 
gets  well  paid  for  it  too." 

"  I  wish  Messer  Bartolommeo  would  pay  me  to  doctor  his 
gouty  Latin,"  said  Macchiavelli,  with  a  shrug.  "  Did  he  tell 
you  about  the  pay,  Ser  Ceccone,  or  was  it  Melema  himself  ?  " 
he  added,  looking  at  the  notary  with  a  face  ironically  innocent. 

"  Melema  ?  No,  indeed,"  answered  Ser  Ceccone.  "  He 
is  as  close  as  a  nut.  He  never  brags.  That 's  why  he  ^s  em- 
ployed everywhere.  They  say  he  's  getting  rich  with  doing 
all  sorts  of  underhand  work." 

"  It  is  a  little  too  bad,"  said  Macchiavelli,  "  and  so  many 
able  notaries  out  of  employment ! " 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  thought  that  was  a  nasty  story  a 
year  or  two  ago  about  the  man  who  said  he  had  stolen  jewels,'* 
said  Cei.  ^'  It  got  hushed  up  somehow ;  but  I  remember  Piero 
di  Cosimo  said,  at  the  time,  he  believed  there  was  something 
in  it,  for  he  saw  Melema's  face  when  the  man  laid  hold  of 
him,  and  he  never  saw  a  visage  so  '  painted  with  fear,'  as  our 
sour  old  Dante  says." 

"Come,  spit  no  more  of  that  venom,  Francesco,"  said 
Nello,  getting  indignant,  "else  I  shall  consider  it  a  public 
duty  to  cut  your  hair  awry  the  next  time  I  get  you  under  my 
scissors.  That  story  of  the  stolen  jewels  was  a  lie.  Bernardo 
Rucellai  and  the  Magnificent  Eight  knew  all  about  it.  The 
man  was  a  dangerous  madman,  and  he  was  very  properly  kept 
out  of  mischief  in  prison.  As  for  our  Piero  di  Cosimo,  his 
wits  are  running  after  the  wind  of  Mongibello  :  he  has  such  an 
extravagant  fancy  that  he  would  take  a  lizard  for  a  crocodile. 


AT  THE   BARBER^S   SHOP  151 

No :  that  story  lias  been  dead  and  buried  too  long,  —  our 
noses  object  to  it." 

"  It  is  true/'  said  Macchiavelli.  "  You  forget  the  dan- 
ger of  the  precedent,  Francesco.  The  next  mad  beggarman 
may  accuse  you  of  stealing  his  verses,  or  me,  God  help  me  ! 
of  stealing  his  coppers.  Ah  !  "  he  went  on,  turning  towards 
the  door,  "  Dolfo  Spiui  has  carried  his  red  feather  out  of  the 
piazza.  That  captain  of  swaggerers  would  like  the  Bepublic 
to  lose  Pisa  just  for  the  chance  of  seeing  the  people  tear  the 
frock  off  the  Prate's  back.  With  your  pardon,  Prancesco,  — 
I  know  he  is  a  friend  of  yours,  —  there  are  few  things  I 
should  like  better  than  to  see  him  play  the  part  of  Capo 
d'Oca,  who  went  out  to  the  tournament  blowing  his  trumpets 
and  returned  with  them  in  a  bag.'' 


CHAPTER  XXYI 

BY   A    STREET    LAMP 

THAT  evening,  when  it  was  dark  and  threatening  rain, 
Eomola,  returning  with  Maso  and  the  lantern  bj  lier 
side,  from  the  hospital  of  San  Matteo,  which  she  had 
visited  after  vespers,  encountered  her  husband  just  issuing 
from  the  monastery  of  San  Marco.  Tito,  who  had  gone  out 
again  shortly  after  his  arrival  in  the  Via  de^  Bardi,  and  had 
seen  little  of  Romola  during  the  day,  immediately  proposed 
to  accompany  her  home,  dismissing  Maso,  whose  short  steps 
annoyed  him.  It  was  only  usual  for  him  to  pay  her  such  an 
official  attention  when  it  was  obviously  demanded  from  him. 
Tito  and  Romola  never  jarred,  never  remonstrated  with  each 
other.  They  were  too  hopelessly  alienated  in  their  inner  life 
ever  to  have  that  contest  which  is  an  effort  towards  agree- 
ment. They  talked  of  all  affairs,  public  and  private,  with 
careful  adlierence  to  an  adopted  course.  If  Tito  wanted  a 
supper  prepared  in  the  old  library,  now  pleasantly  furnished 
as  a  banqueting-room,  Romola  assented,  and  saw  that  every- 
thing needful  was  done ;  and  Tito,  on  his  side,  left  her  en- 
tirely uncontrolled  in  her  daily  habits,  accepting  the  help  she 
offered  him  in  transcribing  or  making  digests,  and  in  return 
meeting  her  conjectured  want  of  sujjplies  for  her  charities. 
Yet  he  constantly,  as  on  this  very  morning,  avoided  exchang- 
ing glances  with  her;  affected  to  believe  that  she  was  out  of 
the  house,  in  order  to  avoid  seeking  her  in  her  own  room ; 
and  playfully  attributed  to  her  a  perpetual  preference  of 
solitude  to  his  society. 


z*-: 


BY   A   STREET  LxVMP  153 

111  the  first  ardour  of  her  self-conquest,  after  she  had 
renounced  her  resolution  of  flight,  Romola  had  made  many 
timid  efforts  towards  the  return  of  a  frank  relation  between 
them.  But  to  her  such  a  relation  could  only  come  by  open 
speech  about  their  differences,  and  the  attempt  to  arrive  at 
a  moral  understanding;  while  Tito  could  only  be  saved 
from  alienation  from  her  by  such  a  recovery  of  her  effusive 
tenderness  as  would  have  presupposed  oblivion  of  their  dif- 
ferences. He  cared  for  no  exjjlanation  between  them ;  he  felt 
any  thorough  explanation  impossible :  he  would  have  cared  to 
have  Eomola  fond  again,  and  to  her,  fondness  was  impossible. 
She  could  be  submissive  and  gentle,  she  could  repress  any 
sign  of  repulsion ;  but  tenderness  was  not  to  be  feigned.  She 
was  helplessly  conscious  of  the  result :  her  husband  was  alien- 
ated from  her. 

It  was  an  additional  reason  why  she  should  be  care- 
fully kept  outside  of  secrets  which  he  would  in  no  case  have 
chosen  to  communicate  to  her.  With  regard  to  his  politi- 
cal action  he  sought  to  convince  her  that  he  considered  the 
cause  of  the  Medici  hopeless ;  and  that  on  that  practical 
ground,  as  well  as  in  theory,  he  heartily  served  the  popular 
government,  in  which  she  had  now  a  warm  interest.  But 
impressions  subtle  as  odours  made  her  uneasy  about  his  re- 
lations with  San  Marco.  She  was  painfully  divided  between 
the  dread  of  seeing  any  evidence  to  arouse  her  suspicions, 
and  the  impulse  to  watch  lest  any  harm  should  come  that 
she  might  have  arrested. 

As  they  walked  together  this  evening,  Tito  said  :  "  The 
business  of  the  day  is  not  yet  quite  ended  for  me.  I  shall 
conduct  you  to  our  door,  my  Romola,  and  then  I  must  fulfil 
another  commission,  which  will  take  me  an  hour,  perhaps, 
before  I  can  return  and  rest,  as  I  very  much  need  to  do." 

And  then  he  talked  amusingly  of  what  he  had  seen  at 


154  .  ROMOLA 

Pisa,  until  they  were  close  upon  a  loggia,  near  wliich  there 
hung  a  lamp  before  a  picture  of  the  Virgin.  The  street  was 
a  quiet  one,  and  hitherto  they  had  passed  few  people;  but 
now  there  was  a  sound  of  many  approaching  footsteps  and 
confused  voices. 

"  We  shall  not  get  home  without  a  wetting,  unless  we 
take  shelter  under  this  convenient  loggia,^^  Tito  said  hastily, 
hurrying  Romola,  with  a  slightly  startled  movement,  up  the 
step  of  the  loggia. 

"  Surely  it  is  useless  to  wait  for  this  small  drizzling 
rain,'^  said  Romola,  in  surprise. 

"  No ;  I  felt  it  becoming  heavier.  Let  us  wait  a  little." 
With  that  wakefulness  to  the  faintest  indication  which  be- 
longs to  a  mind  habitually  in  a  state  of  caution,  Tito  lind 
detected  by  the  glimmer  of  the  lamp  that  the  leader  of  tlie 
advancing  group  wore  a  red  feather  and  a  glittering  sword- 
hilt,  —  in  fact,  was  almost  the  last  person  in  the  world  he 
would  have  chosen  to  meet  at  this  hour  with  Romola  by  liis 
side.  He  had  already  during  the  day  had  one  momentous 
interview  with  Dolfo  Spini,  and  the  business  he  had  spoken 
of  to  Romola  as  yet  to  be  done  was  a  second  interview  with 
that  personage,  a  sequence  of  the  visit  he  had  paid  at  San 
Marco.  Tito,  by  a  long-preconcerted  plan,  had  been  the 
bearer  of  letters  to  Savonarola,  —  carefully  forged  letters ; 
one  of  them,  by  a  stratagem,  bearing  the  very  signature  and 
seal  of  the  Cardinal  of  Naples,  who  of  all  the  Sacred  College 
had  most  exerted  his  influence  at  Rome  in  favour  of  the  Frate. 
The  purport  of  the  letters  was  to  state  that  the  Cardinal  was 
on  his  progress  from  Pisa,  and,  unwilling  for  strong  reasons 
to  enter  Florence,  yet  desirous  of  taking  counsel  with  Sa- 
vonarola at  this  difficult  juncture,  intended  to  pause  this 
very  day  at  San  Casciano,  about  ten  miles  from  the  city, 
whence  he  would  ride  out  the  next  morning  in  the  plain  garb 


BY   A  STREET  LAMP  155 

of  a  priest,  and  meet  Savonarola,  as  if  casually,  five  miles  on 
the  Plorence  road,  two  hours  after  sunrise.  The  plot,  of 
which  these  forged  letters  were  the  initial  step,  was  that  DoKo 
Spmi  with  a  band  of  his  Compagnacci  was  to  be  posted  in 
ambush  on  the  road,  at  a  lonely  spot  about  five  miles  from 
the  gates ;  that  he  was  to  seize  Savonarola  with  the  Domini- 
can brother  who  would  accompany  him  according  to  rule,  and 
deliver  him  over  to  a  small  detachment  of  ]\Iilanese  horse  in 
readiness  near  San  Casciano,  by  whom  he  was  to  be  carried 
into  the  Eoman  territory. 

There  was  a  strong  chance  that  the  penetrating  Frate 
would  suspect  a  trap,  and  decline  to  incur  the  risk,  which  he 
had  for  some  time  avoided,  of  going  beyond  the  city  walls. 
Even  when  he  preached,  his  friends  held  it  necessary  that  he 
should  be  attended  by  an  armed  guard ;  and  here  he  was 
called  on  to  commit  himself  to  a  solitary  road,  with  no  other 
attendant  than  a  fellow-monk.  On  this  ground  the  minimum 
of  time  had  been  given  him  for  decision,  and  the  chance  in 
favour  of  his  acting  on  the  letters  was  that  the  eagerness  with 
which  his  mind  was  set  on  the  combining  of  interests  within 
and  without  the  Church  towards  the  procuring  of  a  General 
Council,  and  also  the  expectation  of  immediate  service  from 
the  Cardinal  in  the  actual  juncture  of  his  contest  with  the 
Pope,  would  triumph  over  his  shrewdness  and  caution  in  the 
brief  space  allowed  for  deliberation. 

Tito  had  had  an  audience  of  Savonarola,  having  declined 
to  put  the  letters  into  any  hands  but  his,  and  with  consummate 
art  had  admitted  that  incidentally,  and  by  inference,  he  was 
able  so  far  to  conjecture  tlieir  purport  as  to  believe  they  re- 
ferred to  a  rendezvous  outside  the  gates,  in  which  case  he 
urged  that  the  Frate  should  seek  an  armed  guard  from  the 
Signoria,  and  offered  his  services  in  carrying  the  request 
with  the   utmost   privacy.     Savonarola   had    replied   briefly 


156  ROMOLA 

that  this  was  impossible  :  an  armed  guard  was  incompatible 
with  privacy.  He  spoke  with  a  flashing  eye,  and  Tito  felt 
convinced  that  he  meant  to  incur  the  risk. 

Tito  himself  did  not  much  care  for  the  result.  He  man- 
aged his  afl'airs  so  cleverly  that  all  results,  he  considered,  must 
turn  to  liis  advantage.  Whichever  party  came  uppermost,  he 
was  secure  of  favour  and  money.  That  is  an  indecorously 
naked  statement ;  the  fact,  clothed  as  Tito  habitually  clothed 
it,  was  that  his  acute  mind,  discerning  the  equal  hollowness 
of  all  parties,  took  the  only  rational  course  in  making  them 
subservient  to  his  own  interest. 

If  Savonarola  fell  into  the  snare,  there  were  diamonds 
in  question  and  papal  patronage ;  if  not,  Tito^s  adroit  agency 
had  strengthened  his  position  with  Savonarola  and  with  Spini, 
while  any  confidences  he  obtained  from  them  made  him  the 
more  valuable  as  an  agent  of  the  Mediceans. 

But  Spini  was  an  inconvenient  colleague.  He  had  cun- 
ning enough  to  delight  in  plots,  but  not  the  ability  or  self- 
command  necessary  to  so  complex  an  effect  as  secrecy.  He 
frequently  got  excited  with  drinking,  for  even  sober  Florence 
had  its  "  Beoni/'  or  topers,  both  lay  and  clerical,  who  became 
loud  at  taverns  and  private  banquets ;  and  in  spite  of  the 
agreement  between  him  and  Tito,  that  their  public  recognition 
of  each  other  should  invariably  be  of  the  coolest  sort,  there 
was  always  the  possibility  that  on  an  evening  encounter  he 
would  be  suddenly  blurting  and  affectionate.  The  delicate 
sign  of  casting  the  becchetto  over  the  left  shoulder  was  under- 
stood in  the  morning,  but  the  strongest  hint  short  of  a  threat 
might  not  suffice  to  keep  off  a  fraternal  grasp  of  the  shoulder 
in  the  evening. 

Tito's  chief  hope  now  was  that  Dolfo  Spini  had  not  caught 
sight  of  him,  and  the  hope  would  have  been  well  founded  if 
Spini  had  had  no  clearer  view  of  him  than  he  had  caught  of 


BY  A   STREET  LAMP  157 

Spini.  But^  liimself  in  shadow,  he  had  seen  Tito  illuminated 
for  an  instant  by  the  direct  rays  of  the  lamp,  and  Tito  in  his 
way  was  as  strongly  marked  a  personage  as  the  captain  of  the 
Compagnacci.  Eomola^s  black-shrouded  figure  had  escaped 
notice,  and  she  now  stood  behind  her  husband's  shoulder  in 
the  corner  of  the  loggia.     Tito  was  not  left  to  hope  long. 

"  Ha  !  my  carrier-pigeon,"  grated  Spini's  harsh  voice,  in 
what  he  meant  to  be  an  undertone,  while  his  hand  grasped 
Tito's  shoulder ;  "  what  did  you  run  into  hiding  for  ?  You 
did  n't  know  it  was  comrades  who  were  coming.  It 's  well  I 
caught  sight  of  you ;  it  saves  time.  What  of  the  chase  to- 
morrow morning?  Will  the  bald-headed  game  rise?  Are 
the  falcons  to  be  got  ready  ?  " 

If  it  had  been  in  Tito's  nature  to  feel  an  access  of  rage, 
he  would  have  felt  it  against  this  bull-faced  accomplice,  unfit 
either  for  a  leader  or  a  tool.  His  lips  turned  white,  but  his 
excitement  came  from  the  pressing  difficulty  of  choosing  a  safe 
device.  If  he  attempted  to  hush  Spini,  that  would  only  deepen 
E-omola's  suspicion,  and  he  knew  her  well  enough  to  know 
that  if  some  strong  alarm  were  roused  in  her,  she  was  neither 
to  be  silenced  nor  hoodwinked ;  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  re- 
pelled Spini  angrily,  the  wine-breathing  Compagnaccio  might 
become  savage,  being  more  ready  at  resentment  than  at  the 
divhiation  of  motives.  He  adopted  a  third  course,  which 
proved  that  Romola  retained  one  sort  of  power  over  him,  — 
the  power  of  dread. 

He  pressed  her  hand,  as  if  intending  a  hint  to  her,  and 
said  in  a  good-humoured  tone  of  comradeship,  — 

'^  Yes,  my  Dolfo,  you  may  prepare  in  all  security.  But 
take  no  trumpets  with  you." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  said  Spini,  a  little  piqued.  "  No 
need  to  play  Ser  Sacccnte  with  me.  I  know  where  the  devil 
keeps  his  tail  as  well  as  you  do.     What !  he  swallowed  the 


158  ROMOLA 

bait  whole  ?  The  prophetic  nose  did  ii't  scent  the  liook  at 
all  ?  "  he  went  on^  lowering  his  tone  a  little,  with  a  blundering 
sense  of  secrecy. 

"  The  brute  will  not  be  satisfied  till  he  has  emptied  the 
bag,"  thought  Tito ;  but  aloud  he  said  :  "  Swallowed  all  as 
easily  as  you  swallow  a  cup  of  Trebbiano.  Ila !  I  see 
torches  :  there  must  be  a  dead  body  coming.  The  pestilence 
has  been  spreading,  I  hear." 

"  Santiddio !  I  hate  the  sight  of  those  biers.  Good- 
night," said  Spini,  hastily  moving  off. 

The  torches  were  really  coming,  but  they  preceded  a 
churcli  dignitary  who  was  returning  homeward;  the  sugges- 
tion of  the  dead  body  and  the  pestilence  was  Tito^s  device  for 
getting  rid  of  Spini  without  telling  him  to  go.  The  moment 
he  had  moved  away,  Tito  turned  to  Eomola,  and  said  quietly, — 

"Do  not  be  alarmed  by  anything  that  bestia  has  said, 
my  Romola.  We  will  go  on  now  :  I  think  the  rain  has  not 
increased." 

She  was  quivering  with  indignant  resolution ;  it  was  of  no 
use  for  Tito  to  speak  in  that  unconcerned  way.  She  distrusted 
every  word  he  could  utter 

"I  will  not  go  on,"  she  said.  "I  will  not  move  nearer 
home  until  I  have  some  security  against  this  treachery  being 
perpetrated." 

"  Wait,  at  least,  until  these  torches  have  passed,"  said 
Tito,  with  perfect  self-command,  but  with  a  new  rising  of  dis- 
like to  a  wife  who  this  time,  he  foresaw,  might  have  the  power 
of  thwarting  him  in  spite  of  the  husband^s  predominance. 

The  torches  passed,  with  the  Yicario  dell'  Arcivescovo, 
and  due  reverence  was  done  by  Tito,  but  Eomola  saw  nothing 
outward.  If  for  the  defeat  of  this  treachery,  in  which  she 
believed  with  all  the  force  of  long  presentiment,  it  had  been 
necessary  at  that  moment  for  her  to  spring  on  her  husband 


The  Holy  Sepulchre,  by  Leon  Battista 
Albert!,  in  the  Rucellai  Chapel 


BY   A   STREET  LAMP  159 

and  hurl  herself  with  him  down  a  precipice,  she  felt  as  if  she 
could  have  done  it.  Union  with  this  man  !  At  that  moment 
the  self-quelling  discipline  of  two  years  seemed  to  be  nullified  : 
she  felt  nothing  but  that  they  were  divided. 

They  were  nearly  in  darkness  again,  and  could  only  see 
each  other's  faces  dimly. 

"  Tell  me  the  truth,  Tito,  —  this  time  tell  me  the  truth," 
said  Eomola,  in  a  low,  quivering  voice.  "  It  will  be  safer 
for  you." 

"Why  should  I  desire  to  tell  you  anything  else,  my 
angry  saint  ?  "  said  Tito,  with  a  slight  touch  of  contempt, 
which  was  the  vent  of  his  annoyance ;  "  since  the  truth  is 
precisely  that  over  which  you  have  most  reason  to  rejoice,  — 
namely,  that  my  knowing  a  plot  of  Spini^s  enables  me  to 
secure  the  Frate  from  falling  a  victim  to  it." 

"What  is  the  plot?" 

"That  I  decline  to  tell,"  said  Tito.  "It  is  enough 
that  the  Frate's  safety  will  be  secured." 

"  It  is  a  plot  for  drawing  him  outside  the  gates,  that 
Spini  may  murder  him." 

"  Tliere  has  been  no  intention  of  murder.  It  is  simply 
a  plot  for  compelling  him  to  obey  the  Pope's  summons  to 
Rome.  But  as  I  serve  the  popular  government,  and  tliink 
the  Frate^s  presence  here  is  a  necessary  means  of  maintaining 
it  at  present,  I  choose  to  prevent  his  departure.  You  may 
go  to  sleep  with  entire  case  of  mind  to-night." 

For  a  moment  Eomola  was  silent.  Then  she  said,  in  a 
voice  of  anguish,  "  Tito,  it  is  of  no  use  :  I  have  no  belief  in 
you." 

She  could  just  discern  his  action  as  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  spread  out  his  palms  in  silence.  That  cold 
dislike  which  is  tlie  anger  of  unimpassioned  beings  was 
hardening  within  him. 


160  ROMOLA 

"  If  the  Frate  leaves  the  city,  —  if  any  harm  happens  to 
him/^  said  Romohi,  after  a  slight  pause,  in  a  new  tone  of 
indignant  resolution,  —  "I  will  declare  what  I  have  heard 
to  the  Signoria,  and  you  will  be  disgraced.  What  if  I  am 
your  wife  ?  "  she  went  on  imjjetuously  ;  "  I  will  be  disgraced 
with  you.  If  we  are  united,  I  am  that  part  of  you  that  will 
save  you  from  crime.     Others  shall  not  be  betrayed/'' 

"  I  am  quite  aware  of  what  you  would  be  likely  to  do, 
anima  mia"  said  Tito,  in  the  coolest  of  his  liquid  tones; 
"  therefore  if  you  have  a  small  amount  of  reasoning  at  your 
disposal  just  now,  consider  that  if  you  believe  me  in  nothing 
else,  you  may  believe  me  when  I  say  I  will  take  care  of 
myself,  and  not  put  it  in  your  power  to  ruin  me.''' 

''Then  you  assure  me  that  the  Frate  is  warned,  —  he 
will  not  go  beyond  the  gates  ? '' 

"  He  shall  not  go  beyond  the  gates/' 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  but  distrust  was  not  to  be 
expelled. 

"  I  will  go  back  to  San  Marco  now  and  find  out," 
Eomola  said,  making  a  movement  forward. 

"  You  shall  not ! "  said  Tito,  in  a  bitter  whisper,  seizing 
her  wrists  with  all  his  masculine  force.  "  I  am  master  of 
you.     You  shall  not  set  yourself  in  opposition  to  me." 

There  were  passers-by  approaching.  Tito  had  heard 
them,  and  that  was  why  he  spoke  in  a  whisper.  Eomola  was 
too  conscious  of  being  mastered  to  have  struggled,  even  if  she 
had  remained  unconscious  that  witnesses  were  at  hand.  But 
she  was  aware  now  of  footsteps  and  voices,  and  her  habitual 
sense  of  personal  dignity  made  her  at  once  yield  to  Tito's 
movement  towards  leading  her  from  the  loggia. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  time,  under  the 
small  drizzling  rain.  The  first  rush  of  indignation  and 
alarm  in  Eomola  had  begun  to  give  way  to  more  complicated 


BY  A  STREET  LAMP  161 

feelings,  which  rendered  speech  and  action  difficult.  In  that 
simpler  state  of  vehemence,  open  opposition  to  the  husband 
from  whom  she  felt  her  soul  revolting  had  had  the  aspect  of 
temptation  for  her ;  it  seemed  the  easiest  of  all  courses.  But 
now,  habits  of  self-questioning,  memories  of  impulse  sub- 
dued, and  that  proud  reserve  which  all  discipline  had  left 
unmodified,  began  to  emerge  from  the  flood  of  passion. 
The  grasp  of  her  wrists,  which  asserted  her  liusband^s  physi- 
cal predominance,  instead  of  arousing  a  new  fierceness  in  her, 
as  it  might  have  done  if  her  impetuosity  had  been  of  a  more 
vulgar  kind,  had  given  her  a  momentary  shuddering  horror 
at  this  form  of  contest  with  him.  It  was  the  first  time  they 
had  been  in  declared  hostility  to  each  other  since  her  flight 
and  return,  and  the  check  given  to  her  ardent  resolution 
then,  retained  the  power  to  arrest  her  now.  In  this  altered 
condition  her  mind  began  to  dwell  on  tlie  probabilities  that 
would  save  her  from  any  desperate  course :  Tito  would  not 
risk  betrayal  by  her;  whatever  had  been  his  original  inten- 
tion, he  must  be  determined  now  by  the  fact  that  she  knew 
of  the  plot.  She  was  not  bound  now  to  do  anything  else 
than  to  hang  over  him  that  certainty,  —  that  if  he  deceived 
her,  her  lips  would  not  be  closed.  And  then,  it  was  possible 
—  yes,  she  must  cling  to  that  possibility  till  it  was  disproved  — 
that  Tito  had  never  meant  to  aid  in  the  betrayal  of  the  Prate. 

Tito,  on  his  side,  was  busy  with  thoughts,  and  did  not 
speak  again  till  they  were  near  home.     Then  he  said,  — 

"Well,  Romola,  have  you  now  had  time  to  recover 
calmness  ?  If  so,  you  can  supply  your  want  of  belief  in  me 
by  a  little  rational  inference  :  you  can  see,  I  presume,  that  if 
I  had  had  any  intention  of  furthering  Spini's  plot,  I  should 
now  be  aware  that  the  possession  of  a  fair  Piaguone  for  my 
wife,  who  knows  the  secret  of  the  plot,  would  be  a  serious 
obstacle  in  my  way." 

VOL.   II. — 11 


162  ROMOLA 

Tito  assumed  the  tone  which  was  just  then  the  easiest  to 
him,  conjecturing  that  in  Eomola^s  present  mood  persuasive 
deprecation  would  be  lost  upon  her. 

"  Yes,  Tito,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  think  you  be- 
lieve that  I  would  guard  the  Eepublic  from  further  treachery. 
You  are  right  to  believe  it :  if  the  Frate  is  betrayed,  I  will 
denounce  you."  She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said  with 
an  effort :  "  But  it  was  not  so.  I  have  perhaps  spoken  too 
hastily,  —  you  never  meant  it.  Only,  why  will  you  seem  to 
be  that  man's  comrade  ?" 

'^  Such  relations  are  inevitable  to  practical  men,  my 
Romola,"  said  Tito,  gratified  by  discerning  the  struggle 
within  her.  "  You  fair  creatures  live  in  the  clouds.  Pray 
go  to  rest  with  an  easy  heart,"  he  added,  opening  the  door 
for  her. 


The  Holy  Sepulchre.     Another  view 


CHAPTEE  XXVn 

CHECK 

TITO'S  clever  arrangements  had  been  unpleasantly- 
frustrated  by  trivial  incidents  which  could  not  enter 
into  a  clever  man's  calculations.  It  was  very  seldom 
that  he  walked  with  Eomola  in  the  evening,  yet  he  had  hap- 
pened to  be  walking  with  her  precisely  on  this  evening  when 
her  presence  was  supremely  inconvenient.  Life  was  so  com- 
plicated a  game  that  the  devices  of  skill  were  liable  to  be 
defeated  at  every  turn  by  air-blown  chances,  incalculable  as 
the  descent  of  thistle-down. 

It  was  not  that  he  minded  about  the  failure  of  Spini's 
plot,  but  he  felt  an  awkward  difficulty  in  so  adjusting  his 
warning  to  Savonarola  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  Spini  on 
the  other,  as  not  to  incur  suspicion.  Suspicion  roused  in  the 
popular  party  might  be  fatal  to  his  reputation  and  ostensible 
position  in  Florence :  suspicion  roused  in  Dolfo  Spini  might 
be  as  disagreeable  in  its  effects  as  the  hatred  of  a  fierce  dog 
not  to  be  chained. 

If  Tito  went  forthwith  to  the  monastery  to  warn  Savona- 
rola before  the  monks  went  to  rest,  his  warning  would  follow 
so  closely  on  his  delivery  of  the  forged  letters  that  he  could 
not  escape  unfavourable  surmises.  He  could  not  warn  Spini 
at  once  without  telling  him  the  true  reason,  since  he  could 
not  immediately  allege  the  discovery  that  Savonarola  had 
changed  his  purpose ;  and  he  knew  Spini  well  enough  to 
know  that  his  understanding  would  discern  nothing  but  that 
Tito  had  "  turned  round  "  and  frustrated  the  plot.     On  the 


164  ROMOLA 

other  hand,  by  deferring  liis  warning  to  Savonarola  until  the 
morning,  he  would  be  almost  sure  to  lose  the  opportunity  of 
warning  Spini  that  the  Frate  had  changed  his  mind ;  and  the 
band  of  Compagnacci  would  come  back  in  all  the  rage  of 
disappointment.  This  last,  however,  was  the  risk  he  chose, 
trusting  to  his  power  of  soothing  Spini  by  assuring  him  that 
the  failure  was  due  only  to  the  Praters  caution. 

Tito  was  annoyed.  If  he  had  had  to  smile,  it  would 
have  been  an  unusual  effort  to  him.  He  was  determined 
not  to  encounter  Romola  again,  and  he  did  not  go  home  that 
night. 

She  watched  through  the  night,  and  never  took  off  her 
clothes.  She  heard  the  rain  become  heavier  and  heavier. 
She  liked  to  hear  the  rain;  the  stormy  heavens  seemed  a 
safeguard  against  men's  devices,  compelling  them  to  inaction. 
And  Ex)mola^s  mind  was  again  assailed,  not  only  by  the  ut- 
most doubt  of  her  husband,  but  by  doubt  as  to  her  own 
conduct.  What  lie  might  he  not  have  told  her?  What 
project  might  he  not  have,  of  which  she  was  still  ignorant  ? 
Every  one  who  trusted  Tito  was  in  danger;  it  was  useless  to 
try  and  persuade  herself  of  the  contrary.  And  was  not  she 
selfishly  listening  to  the  promptings  of  her  own  pride,  when 
she  shrank  from  warning  men  against  him  ?  "  If  her  husband 
was  a  malefactor,  her  place  was  in  the  prison  by  his  side  " 
—  that  might  be;  she  was  contented  to  fulfil  that  claim. 
But  was  she,  a  wife,  to  allow  a  husband  to  inflict  the  injuries 
that  would  make  him  a  malefactor,  when  it  might  be  in  her 
power  to  prevent  them  ?  Prayer  seemed  impossible  to  her. 
The  activity  of  her  thought  excluded  a  mental  state  of  which 
the  essence  is  expectant  passivity. 

The  excitement  became  stronger  and  stronger.  Her 
imagination,  in  a  state  of  morbid  activity,  conjured  up  possi- 
ble schemes  by  which,  after  all,  Tito  would  have  eluded  her 


CHECK  165 

threat ;  and  towards  daybreak  the  rain  became  less  violent, 
till  at  last  it  ceased^  the  breeze  rose  again  and  dispersed  the 
clouds,  and  the  morning  fell  clear  on  all  the  objects  around 
her.  It  made  her  uneasiness  all  the  less  endurable.  She 
wrapped  her  mantle  round  her,  and  ran  up  to  the  loggia,  as  if 
there  could  be  anything  in  the  wide  landscape  that  might 
determine  her  action  ;  as  if  there  could  be  anything  but  roofs 
hiding  the  line  of  street  along  which  Savonarola  might  be 
walking  towards  betrayal. 

If  she  went  to  her  godfather,  might  she  not  induce  him, 
without  any  specific  revelation,  to  take  measures  for  prevent- 
ing Fra  Girolamo  from  passing  the  gates  ?  But  that  might 
be  too  late.  E-omola  thought,  with  new  distress,  that  she  had 
failed  to  learn  any  guiding  details  from  Tito,  and  it  was  already 
long  past  seven.  She  must  go  to  San  Marco  :  there  was  nothing 
else  to  be  done. 

She  hurried  down  the  stairs,  she  went  out  into  the  street 
without  looking  at  her  sick  people,  and  walked  at  a  swift  pace 
along  the  Via  de'  Bardi  towards  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  She 
would  go  through  the  heart  of  the  city ;  it  was  the  most  direct 
road,  and,  besides,  in  the  great  piazza  there  was  a  chance  of 
encountering  her  husband,  who,  by  some  possibility  to  which 
she  still  clung,  might  satisfy  her  of  the  Frate's  safety,  and 
leave  no  need  for  her  to  go  to  San  Marco.  When  she  arrived 
in  front  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  she  looked  eagerly  into  the 
pillared  court ;  then  her  eyes  swept  the  piazza ;  but  the  well- 
known  figure,  once  painted  in  her  heart  by  young  love,  and 
now  branded  there  by  eating  pain,  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
She  hurried  straight  on  to  the  Piazza  del  Duomo.  It  was 
already  full  of  movement :  there  were  worshippers  passing  up 
and  down  the  marble  steps,  there  were  men  pausing  for  chat, 
and  there  were  market-people  carrying  their  burdens.  Be- 
tween those  moving  figures  Romola  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 


166  ROMOLA 

husband.  On  his  way  from  San  Marco  he  had  turned  into 
Nello's  shop,  and  was  now  leaning  against  the  door-post.  As 
Romola  approached  she  could  see  tliat  he  was  standing  and 
talking,  with  the  easiest  air  in  the  M'orld,  holding  his  cap  in 
his  hand,  and  shaking  back  his  freshly  combed  hair.  The 
contrast  of  this  ease  with  the  bitter  anxieties  he  had  created 
convulsed  her  with  indignation :  the  new  vision  of  his  hard- 
ness heightened  her  dread.  She  recognized  Cronaca  and  two 
other  frequenters  of  San  Marco  standing  near  her  husband. 
It  flashed  through  her  mind,  —  "I  will  compel  him  to  speak 
before  those  men/'  And  her  light  step  brought  her  close 
upon  him  before  he  ha,d  time  to  move,  whUe  Cronaca  was 
saying,  "  Here  comes  Madonna  Romola.^' 

A  slight  shock  passed  through  Tito's  frame  as  he  felt 
himself  face  to  face  witli  his  wife.  She  was  haggard  with  her 
anxious  watching,  but  there  was  a  flash  of  something  else  than 
anxiety  in  her  eyes  as  she  said,  — 

"  Is  the  Prate  gone  beyond  the  gates  ?  " 

"  No,''  said  Tito,  feeling  completely  helpless  before  this 
woman,  and  needing  all  the  self-command  he  possessed  to  pre- 
serve a  countenance  in  which  there  should  seem  to  be  nothing 
stronger  than  surprise. 

"  And  you  are  certain  that  he  is  not  going  ? "  she 
insisted. 

"  I  am  certain  that  he  is  not  going." 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  Roinola  ;  and  she  turned  up  the 
steps,  to  take  refuge  in  the  Duomo  till  she  could  recover  from 
her  agitation. 

Tito  never  had  a  feeling  so  near  hatred  as  that  with 
which  his  eyes  followed  Romola  retreating  up  the  steps. 

There  were  present  not  only  genuine  followers  of  the 
Frate,  but  Ser  Ceccone,  the  notary,  who  at  that  time,  like 
Tito  himself,  was  secretly  an  agent  of  the  Mediceans. 


Pico  def.la  Miraxdoi.a 


From  the  contemporary  poj-trait  in  the  Ufzi  Gallery 


CHECK  167 

Ser  Francesco  di  Ser  Barone,  more  briefly  known  to 
infamy  as  Ser  Ceccone,  was  not  learned^  not  handsome^  not 
successful,  and  the  reverse  of  generous.  He  was  a  traitor 
without  charm.  It  followed  that  he  was  not  fond  of  Tito 
Melema. 


CHAPTER  XXVin 

COUNTER-CHECK 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Tito  returned  home. 
Romola,  seated  opposite  the  cabinet  in  her  narrow  room, 

copying  documents,  was  about  to  desist  from  her  work 
because  the  light  was  getting  dim,  when  her  husband  entered. 
He  had  come  straight  to  this  room  to  seek  her,  with  a  thor- 
oughly defined  intention ;  and  there  was  something  new  to 
Romola  in  his  manner  and  expression  as  he  looked  at  hw 
silently  on  entering,  and,  without  taking  off  his  cap  and 
mantle,  leaned  one  elbow  on  the  cabinet,  and  stood  directly 
in  front  of  her. 

Romola,  fully  assured  during  the  day  of  the  Frate^s 
safety,  was  feeling  the  reaction  of  some  penitence  for  the 
access  of  distrust  and  hidignation  which  had  impelled  her  to 
address  her  husband  publicly  on  a  matter  that  she  knew  he 
wished  to  be  private.  She  told  herself  that  she  had  probably 
been  wrong.  The  scheming  duplicity  which  she  had  heard 
even  her  godfather  allude  to  as  inseparable  from  party  tactics 
might  be  sufficient  to  account  for  the  connection  with  Spiiii, 
without  the  supposition  that  Tito  had  ever  meant  to  further  the 
plot.  She  wanted  to  atone  for  her  impetuosity  by  confessing 
that  she  had  been  too  hasty,  and  for  some  hours  her  mind  had 
been  dwelling  on  the  possibility  that  this  confession  of  hers 
might  lead  to  other  frank  words  breaking  the  two  years* 
silence  of  their  hearts.  The  silence  had  been  so  complete 
that  Tito  was  ignorant  of  her  having  fled  from  him  and  come 
back  again;  they  had  never  approached  an  avowal  of  that 


COUNTER-CHECK  169 

past  which,  both  in  its  young  love  and  in  the  shock  that 
shattered  the  love,  lay  locked  away  from  thein  like  a  banquet- 
room  where  death  had  once  broken  tlie  feast. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  that  submission  in  her 
glance  which  belonged  to  her  state  of  self-reproof;  but  the 
subtle  change  in  his  face  and  manner  arrested  her  speech. 
For  a  few  moments  they  remained  silent,  looking  at  each 
other. 

Tito  himself  felt  that  a  crisis  was  come  in  his  married 
life.  The  husband's  determination  to  mastery,  which  Liy 
deep  below  all  blandness  and  beseechingness,  had  risen  per- 
manently to  the  surface  now,  and  seemed  to  alter  his  face,  as 
a  face  is  altered  by  a  hidden  muscular  tension  with  which  a 
man  is  secretly  throttling  or  stamping  out  the  life  from  some- 
thing feeble,  yet  dangerous. 

"  Romola,"  he  began,  in  the  cool  liquid  tone  that  made 
her  shiver,  "  it  is  time  that  we  should  understand  each  other." 
He  paused. 

"That  is  what  I  most  desire,  Tito,"  she  said  faintly. 
Her  sweet  pale  face,  with  all  its  anger  gone  and  nothing  but 
the  timidity  of  self-doubt  in  it,  seemed  to  give  a  marked  pre- 
dominance to  her  husband^s  dark  strength. 

"  You  took  a  step  this  morning,"  Tito  went  on,  "  which 
you  must  now  yourself  perceive  to  have  been  useless, — which 
exposed  you  to  remark^  and  may  involve  me  in  serious  prac- 
tical difficulties." 

"  I  acknowledge  that  I  was  too  hasty  ;  I  am  sorry  for 
any  injustice  I  may  have  done  you."  Romola  spoke  these 
words  in  a  fuller  and  firmer  tone ;  Tito,  she  hoped,  would 
look  less  hard  when  she  had  expressed  her  regret,  and  then 
she  could  say  other  things. 

"I  wish  you  once  for  all  to  understand,"  he  said, 
without   any   change   of  voice,    "  that   such    collisions    are 


170  ROMOLA 

incompatible  with  our  position  as  husband  and  wife.  I  wish 
you  to  reflect  on  the  mode  in  which  you  were  led  to  that  step, 
that  the  process  may  not  be  repeated/' 

"That  depends  chiefly  on  you,  Tito,"  said  Roraola, 
taking  fire  slightly.  It  was  not  at  all  what  she  had  thought 
of  saying,  but  we  see  a  very  Kttle  way  before  us  in  mutual 
speech. 

"You  would  say,  I  suppose,^'  answered  Tito,  "that 
nothing  is  to  occur  in  future  which  can  excite  your  unrea- 
sonable suspicions.  You  were  frank  enough  to  say  last 
night  that  you  have  no  belief  in  me.  I  am  not  surprised 
at  any  exaggerated  conclusion  you  may  draw  from  slight 
premises,  but  I  wish  to  point  out  to  you  what  is  likely  to 
be  the  fruit  of  your  making  such  exaggerated  conclusions  a 
ground  for  interfering  in  affairs  of  which  you  are  ignorant. 
Your  attention  is  thoroughly  awake  to  what  I  am  saying  ?  " 

He  paused  for  a  reply. 

"Yes,"  said  Romola,  flushing  in  irrepressible  resent- 
ment at  this  cold  tone  of  superiority. 

"  Well,  then,  it  may  possibly  not  be  very  long  before 
some  other  chance  words  or  incidents  set  your  imagination  at 
work  devising  crimes  for  me,  and  you  may  perhaps  rush  to 
the  Palazzo  Vecchio  to  alarm  the  Signoria  and  set  the  city  in 
an  uproar.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  may  be  the  result  ?  Not 
simply  the  disgrace  of  your  husband,  to  which  you  look 
forward  with  so  much  courage,  but  tlie  arrest  and  ruin  of 
many  among  the  chief  men  in  Florence,  including  Messer 
Bernardo  del  Nero." 

Tito  had  meditated  a  decisive  move,  and  he  had  made  it. 
The  flush  died  out  of  Romola's  face,  and  her  very  lips  were 
p;ile,  —  an  unusual  effect  with  her,  for  she  was  little  subject 
to  fear.     Tito  perceived  his  success. 

"  You  would   perhaps   flatter  yourself,"  he   went   on^ 


Ax  alley  in  the  Rucellai  Gardens 


COUNTER-CHECK  171 

"  that  jou  were  performing  a  heroic  deed  of  deliverance;  you 
might  as  well  try  to  turn  locks  M'ith  fine  words  as  apply  such 
notions  to  the  politics  of  Florence.  The  question  now  is,  not 
whether  you  can  have  any  belief  in  me,  but  whether,  now  you 
have  been  warned,  you  will  dare  to  rush,  like  a  blind  man 
with  a  torch  in  his  hand,  among  intricate  affairs  of  which  you 
know  nothing/' 

Eomola  felt  as  if  her  mind  were  held  in  a  vice  by  Tito's : 
the  possibilities  he  had  indicated  were  rising  before  her  with 
terrible  clearness. 

"  I  am  too  rash,"  she  said.  "  I  will  try  not  to  be 
rash.'' 

"Remember,"  said  Tito,  with  unsparing  insistence, 
"  that  your  act  of  distrust  towards  me  this  morning  might, 
for  aught  you  knew,  have  had  more  fatal  effects  than  that 
sacrifice  of  your  husband  which  you  have  learned  to  contem- 
plate without  flinching." 

"  Tito,  it  is  not  so,"  Romola  burst  forth  in  a  pleading 
tone,  rising  and  going  nearer  to  him,  with  a  desperate  resolu- 
tion to  speak  out.  "  It  is  false  that  I  would  willingly  sacri- 
fice you.  It  has  been  the  greatest  effort  of  my  life  to  cling 
to  you.  I  went  away  in  my  anger  two  years  ago,  and  I  came 
back  again  because  I  was  more  bound  to  you  than  to  anything 
else  on  earth.  But  it  is  useless.  You  shut  me  out  from  your 
mind.  You  affect  to  think  of  me  as  a  being  too  unreasonable 
to  share  in  the  knowledge  of  your  affairs.  You  will  be  open 
with  me  about  nothing." 

She  looked  like  his  good  angel  pleading  with  him,  as 
she  bent  her  face  towards  him  with  dilated  eyes,  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  arm.  But  llomola's  touch  and  glance  no 
longer  stirred  any  fibre  of  tenderness  in  her  husband.  The 
good-humoured,  tolerant  Tito,  incapable  of  hatred,  incapable 
almost  of  impatience,  disposed  always  to  be  gentle  towards 


172  ROMOLA 

the  rest  of  the  worldj  felt  himself  becoming  strangely  hard 
towards  this  wife  whose  presence  had  once  been  the  strongest 
inflaence  he  had  known.  With  all  his  softness  of  disposition, 
he  had  a  masculine  effectiveness  of  intellect  and  purpose 
which,  like  sharpness  of  edge,  is  itself  an  energy,  working  its 
way  without  any  strong  momentum.  Romola  had  an  energy 
of  her  own  which  thwarted  his ;  and  no  man,  who  is  not  ex- 
ceptionally feeble,  will  endure  being  thwarted  by  his  wife. 
Marriage  must  be  a  relation  either  of  sympathy  or  of 
conquest. 

No  emotion  darted  across  his  face  as  he  heard  Eomola 
for  the  first  time  speak  of  having  gone  away  from  him.  His 
lips  only  looked  a  little  harder  as  he  smiled  slightly  and 
said,  — 

"  My  Eomola,  when  certain  conditions  are  ascertained, 
■we  must  make  up  our  minds  to  them.  No  amount  of  wisliing 
will  fill  the  Arno,  as  your  people  say,  or  turn  a  plum  into  an 
orange.  I  have  not  observed  even  that  prayers  have  much 
efficacy  that  way.  You  are  so  constituted  as  to  have  certain 
strong  impressions  inaccessible  to  reason ;  I  cannot  share  those 
impressions,  and  you  have  withdrawn  all  trust  from  me  in 
consequence.  You  have  changed  towards  me;  it  has  followed 
that  I  have  changed  towards  you.  It  is  useless  to  take  any 
retrospect.  We  have  simply  to  adapt  ourselves  to  altered 
conditions.''' 

"  Tito,  it  would  not  be  useless  for  us  to  speak  openly ,'' 
said  Romola,  with  the  sort  of  exasperation  that  comes  from 
using  living  muscle  against  some  lifeless,  insurmountable 
resistance.  "It  was  the  sense  of  deception  in  you  that 
changed  me,  and  that  has  kept  us  apart.  And  it  is  not  true 
that  I  changed  first.  You  changed  towards  me  the  night 
you  first  wore  that  chain-armour.  You  had  some  secret 
from  me  —  it  was  about   that  old  man  —  and  I  saw  him 


COUNTER-CHECK  173 

again  yesterday.  Tito/^  she  went  on,  in  a  tone  of  agonized 
entreaty,  "if  you  would  once  tell  me  everything,  let  it  be 
what  it  may  —  I  would  not  mind  jjain  —  that  there  might  be 
no  wall  between  us  !  Is  it  not  possible  that  we  could  begin 
a  new  life  ?  ^' 

This  time  there  was  a  flash  of  emotion  across  Tito's  face. 
He  stood  j)erfectly  still;  but  the  flash  seemed  to  have  whit- 
ened him.  He  took  no  notice  of  Eomola's  appeal,  but  after 
a  moment^s  pause  said  quietly,  — 

"  Your  impetuosity  about  trifles,  Romola,  has  a  freezing 
influence  that  would  cool  the  baths  of  Nero."  At  these 
cutting  words  Romola  shrank,  and  drew  herself  up  into  her 
usual  self-sustained  attitude.  Tito  went  on  :  "  If  by  '  that 
old  man  '  you  mean  the  mad  Jacopo  di  Nola  who  attempted 
my  life  and  made  a  strange  accusation  against  me,  of  which 
I  told  you  nothing  because  it  would  have  alarmed  you  to  no 
purpose,  he,  poor  wretch,  has  died  in  prison.  I  saw  his 
name  in  the  list  of  dead." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  his  accusation,"  said  Eomola ; 
"  but  I  know  he  is  the  man  whom  I  saw  with  the  rope  round 
his  neck  in  the  Duomo,  —  the  man  whose  portrait  Piero  di 
Cosimo  painted,  grasping  your  arm  as  he  saw  him  grasp  it 
the  day  the  French  entered,  the  day  you  first  wore  the 
armour." 

"  And  where  is  he  now,  pray  ?  "  said  Tito,  still  pale, 
but  governing  himself. 

"  He  was  lying  lifeless  in  the  street  from  starvation," 
said  Eomola.  "  I  revived  him  with  bread  and  wine.  I 
brought  him  to  our  door,  but  he  refused  to  come  in.  Then 
I  gave  him  some  money,  and  he  went  away  without  telling 
me  anything.  But  he  had  found  out  that  I  was  your  wife. 
Who  is  he  ?  " 

"A  man,  half  mad,  half  imbecile,  who  was  once  my 


174  ROMOLA 

father's  servant  in  Greece,  and  who  has  a  rancorous  hatred 
towards  me  because  I  got  him  dismissed  for  theft.  Now  you 
have  the  whole  mystery,  and  the  further  satisfaction  of  know- 
ing that  I  am  again  in  danger  of  assassination.  The  fact  of 
my  wearing  the  armour,  about  which  you  seem  to  have 
thought  so  much,  must  have  led  you  to  infer  that  I  was  in 
danger  from  this  man.  Was  that  the  reason  you  chose  to 
cultivate  his  acquaintance  and  invite  him  into  the  house  ?  " 

Romola  was  mute.  To  speak  was  only  like  rushing 
with  bare  breast  against  a  shield. 

Tito  moved  from  his  leaning  posture,  slowly  took  off  his 
cap  and  mantle,  and  pushed  back  his  hair.  He  was  collect- 
ing himself  for  some  final  words.  And  Romola  stood  up- 
right, looking  at  him  as  she  might  have  looked  at  some 
on-coming  deadly  force,  to  be  met  only  by  silent  endurance. 

"  We  need  not  refer  to  these  matters  again,  Romola,"  he 
said,  precisely  in  the  same  tone  as  that  in  which  he  had 
spoken  at  first.  "  It  is  enough  if  you  will  remember  that 
the  next  time  your  generous  ardour  leads  you  to  interfere 
in  political  affairs,  you  are  likely,  not  to  save  any  one  from 
danger,  but  to  be  raising  scaffolds  and  setting  houses  on  fire. 
You  are  not  yet  a  sufficiently  ardent  Piagnone  to  believe  that 
Messer  Bernardo  del  Nero  is  the  prince  of  darkness,  and 
Messer  Prancesco  Valori  the  archangel  Michael.  I  think 
I  need  demand  no  promise  from  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  understood  you  too  well,  Tito." 

"  It  is  enough,'^  he  said,  leaving  the  room. 

Romola  turned  around  with  despair  in  her  face,  and  sank 
into  her  seat.  "  O  God,  I  have  tried  —  I  cannot  help  it.  We 
shall  always  be  divided."  Those  words  passed  silently  through 
her  mind.  "  Unless,"  she  said  aloud,  as  if  some  sudden  vision 
had  startled  her  into  speech,  —  "  unless  misery  should  come 
and  join  us  ! " 


''■ .  -'fw' 


t 


COUNTER-CHECK  175 

Tito,  too,  had  a  new  thought  in  his  mind  after  he  had 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  With  the  project  of  leaving 
Florence  as  soon  as  his  life  there  had  become  a  liigh  enough 
stepping-stone  to  a  life  elsewhere,  perhaps  at  Rome  or  Milan, 
there  was  now  for  the  first  time  associated  a  desire  to  be  free 
from  Eomola,  and  to  leave  her  behind  him.  She  had  ceased 
to  belong  to  the  desirable  furniture  of  his  life ;  there  was  no 
possibility  of  an  easy  relation  between  them  without  genuine- 
ness on  his  part.  Genuineness  implied  confession  of  the  past, 
and  confession  involved  a  change  of  purpose.  But  Tito  had 
as  little  bent  that  way  as  a  leopard  has  to  lap  milk  when  its 
teeth  are  grown.  From  all  relations  that  were  not  easy  and 
agreeable,  we  know  that  Tito  shrank  :  why  should  he  cling  to 
them? 

And  Eomola  had  made  his  relations  difficult  wdth  others 
besides  herself.  He  had  had  a  troublesome  interview  with 
Dolfo  Spini,  who  had  come  back  in  a  rage  after  an  ineffectual 
soaking  with  rain  and  long  waiting  in  ambush ;  and  that  scene 
between  Eomola  and  himself  at  Nello^s  door,  once  reported  in 
Spini^s  ear,  might  be  a  seed  of  something  more  unmanageable 
than  suspicion.  But  now,  at  least,  he  believed  that  he  had 
mastered  Eomola  by  a  terror  which  appealed  to  the  strongest 
forces  of  her  nature.  He  had  alarmed  her  affection  and  her 
conscience  by  the  shadowy  image  of  consequences ;  he  had  ar- 
rested her  intellect  by  hanging  before  it  the  idea  of  a  hopeless 
complexity  in  affairs  which  defied  any  moral  judgment. 

Yet  Tito  was  not  at  ease.  The  world  was  not  yet  quite 
cushioned  with  velvet,  and,  if  it  had  been,  he  could  not  have 
abandoned  himself  to  that  softness  with  thorough  enjoyment ; 
for  before  he  went  out  again  this  evening,  he  put  on  his  coat 
of  chain-armour. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    PYRAMID    OF   VANITIES 

THE  wintry  days  passed  for  Eomola  as  the  white  ships 
pass  one  who  is  standing  lonely  on  the  shore,  —  pass- 
ing in  silence  and  sameness,  yet  each  bearing  a  hidden 
burden  of  coming  change.  Tito^s  hint  had  mingled  so  much 
di'ead  with  her  interest  in  the  progress  of  public  aifairs  that 
she  had  begun  to  court  ignorance  rather  than  knowledge. 
The  threatening  German  Emperor  was  gone  again ;  and,  in 
other  ways  besides,  the  position  of  Florence  was  alleviated ; 
but  so  much  distress  remained  that  Romola^s  active  duties 
were  hardly  diminished,  and  in  these,  as  usual,  her  mind  found 
a  refuge  from  its  doubt. 

She  dared  not  rejoice  that  the  relief  which  had  come  in 
extremity  and  had  appeared  to  justify  the  policy  of  the  Praters 
party  was  making  that  party  so  triumphant  that  Francesco 
Yalori,  hot-tempered  chieftain  of  the  Piagnoni,  had  been 
elected  Gonfalouiere  at  the  beginning  of  the  year,  and  was 
making  haste  to  have  as  much  of  his  own  liberal  way  as  pos- 
sible during  his  two  months  of  power.  That  seemed  for  the 
moment  like  a  strengthening  of  the  party  most  attached  to 
freedom,  and  a  reinforcement  of  protection  to  Savonarola  ;  but 
Eomola  was  now  alive  to  every  suggestion  likely  to  deepen  her 
foreboding  that  whatever  the  present  might  be,  it  was  only  an 
unconscious  brooding  over  the  mixed  germs  of  Change  which 
might  any  day  become  tragic.  And  already  by  Carnival  time, 
a  little  after  mid-February,  her  presentiment  was  confirmed  by 
the  signs  of  a  very  decided  change  :  the  Mediceans  had  ceased 


THE   PYRAMID   OF  VANITIES  177 

to  be  passive,  and  were  openly  exerting  themselves  to  procure 
the  election  of  Bernardo  del  Nero  as  the  new  Gonfaloniere. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  Carnival,  between  ten  and  eleven 
in  the  morning,  Uomola  walked  out,  according  to  promise, 
towards  the  Corso  degli  Albizzi,  to  fetch  her  cousin  Brigida, 
that  they  might  both  be  ready  to  start  from  the  Via  de'  Bardi 
early  in  the  afternoon,  and  take  their  places  at  a  window  which 
Tito  had  had  reserved  for  them  in  the  Piazza  della  Signoria, 
where  there  was  to  be  a  scene  of  so  new  and  striking  a  sort  that 
all  Plorentine  eyes  must  desire  to  see  it.  Por  the  Piagnoni  were 
having  their  own  way  thoroughly  about  the  mode  of  keeping 
the  Carnival.  In  vain  Dolfo  Spini  and  his  companions  had 
struggled  to  get  up  the  dear  old  masks  and  practical  jokes, 
well  spiced  with  indecency.  Such  things  were  not  to  be  in 
a  city  where  Christ  had  been  declared  king. 

Romola  set  out  in  that  languid  state  of  mind  with  which 
every  one  enters  on  a  long  day  of  sight-seeing  purely  for  the  sake 
of  gratifying  a  child  or  some  dear  childish  friend.  The  day  was 
certainly  an  epoch  in  carnival-keeping ;  but  this  phase  of  reform 
had  not  touched  her  enthusiasm  :  and  she  did  not  know  that 
it  was  an  epoch  in  her  own  life  when  another  lot  would  begin 
to  be  no  longer  secretly  but  visibly  entwined  with  her  own. 

She  chose  to  go  through  the  great  piazza  that  she  might 
take  a  first  survey  of  the  unparalleled  siglit  there  while  she 
was  still  alone.  Entering  it  from  the  south,  she  saw  some- 
thing monstrous  and  many-coiourcd  in  the  shape  of  a  pyramid, 
or,  rather,  like  a  huge  fir-tree,  sixty  feet  high,  with  shelves  on 
the  branches,  widening  and  widening  towards  the  base  till 
they  reached  a  circumference  of  eighty  yards.  Tlie  piazza  was 
full  of  life  :  slight  young  figures,  in  white  garments,  with  olive 
wreaths  on  their  heads,  were  moving  to  and  fro  about  the  base 
of  the  pyramidal  tree,  carrying  baskets  full  of  briglit-coloured 
things ;  and  maturer  forms,  some  in  the  monastic  frock,  some 

VOL.  II.  — 12 


178  ROMOLA 

in  the  loose  tunics  and  dark-red  caps  of  artists,  were  lielping 
and  examining,  or  else  retreating  to  various  points  in  the 
distance  to  sui'vey  the  wondrous  whole ;  wliile  a  considerable 
group,  among  whom  Romola  recognized  Piero  di  Cosimo, 
standing  on  the  marble  steps  of  Orgagna's  Loggia,  seemed  to 
be  keeping  aloof  in  discontent  and  scorn. 

Approaching  nearer,  she  paused  to  look  at  the  multifa- 
rious objects  ranged  in  gradation  from  the  base  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  pyramid.  There  were  tapestries  and  brocades  of 
immodest  design,  pictures  and  sculptures  held  too  likely  to 
incite  to  vice;  there  were  boards  and  tables  for  all  sorts 
of  games,  playing-cards  along  with  the  blocks  for  printing 
them,  dice,  and  other  apparatus  for  gambling;  there  were 
worldly  music-books,  and  musical  instruments  in  all  the 
pretty  varieties  of  lute,  drum,  cymbal,  and  trumpet;  there 
were  masks  and  masquerading-dresses  used  in  the  old  Car- 
nival shows ;  there  were  handsome  copies  of  Ovid,  Boccaccio, 
Petrarca,  Pulci,  and  other  books  of  a  vain  or  impure  sort; 
there  were  all  the  implements  of  feminine  vanity,  —  rouge- 
pots,  false  hair,  mirrors,  perfumes,  powders,  and  transparent 
veils  intended  to  provoke  inquisitive  glances;  lastly,  at  the 
very  summit,  there  was  the  unflattermg  effigy  of  a  probably 
mythical  Venetian  merchant,  who  was  understood  to  have 
offered  a  heavy  sum  for  this  collection  of  marketable  abomi- 
nations, and,  soaring  above  him  in  surpassing  ugliness,  the 
symbolic  figure  of  the  old  debauched  Carnival. 

This  was  the  preparation  for  a  new  sort  of  bonfire, — 
the  Burning  of  Vanities.  Hidden  in  the  interior  of  the  pyra- 
mid was  a  i)lentiful  store  of  dry  fuel  and  gunpowder;  and 
on  this  last  day  of  the  festival,  at  evening,  the  pile  of  vani- 
ties was  to  be  set  ablaze  to  the  sound  of  trumpets,  and  the 
ugly  old  Carnival  was  to  tumble  into  the  flames  amid  the 
songs  of  reforming  triumph. 


A  Grotto  in  the  Rucellai  Gardens 


c^ 


THE   PYRAMID   OF  VANITIES  179 

This  crowning  act  of  the  new  festivities  could  hardly 
have  been  prepared  but  for  a  peculiar  organization  which  had 
been  started  by  Savonarola  two  years  before.  The  mass  of 
the  Florentine  boyhood  and  youth  was  no  longer  left  to  its 
own  genial  promptings  towards  street  mischief  and  crude  dis- 
soluteness. Under  the  training  of  Pra  Domenico,  a  sort  of 
lieutenant  to  Savonarola,  lads  and  striplings,  the  hope  of 
Florence,  were  to  have  none  but  pure  words  on  their  lips, 
were  to  have  a  zeal  for  Unseen  Good  that  should  put  to 
shame  the  lukewarmness  of  their  elders,  and  were  to  know 
no  pleasures  save  of  an  angelic  sort,  —  singing  divine  praises 
and  walking  in  white  robes.  It  was  for  them  that  the 
ranges  of  seats  had  been  raised  high  against  the  walls  of  the 
Duomo;  and  they  had  been  used  to  hear  Savonarola  appeal 
to  them  as  the  future  glory  of  a  city  specially  appointed  to 
do  the  work  of  God. 

These  fresh-cheeked  troops  were  the  chief  agents  in  the 
regenerated  merriment  of  the  new  Carnival,  which  was  a  sort 
of  sacred  parody  of  the  old.  Had  there  been  bonfires  in  the 
old  time?  There  was  to  be  a  bonfire  now,  consuming  im- 
purity from  off  the  earth.  Had  there  been  symbolic  proces- 
sions ?  There  were  to  be  processions  now,  but  the  symbols 
were  to  be  white  robes  and  red  crosses  and  olive  wreaths,  — 
emblems  of  peace  and  innocent  gladness,  —  and  the  banners 
and  images  held  aloft  were  to  tell  the  triumphs  of  goodness. 
Had  there  been  dancing  in  a  ring  under  the  open  sky  of  the 
piazza,  to  the  sound  of  choral  voices  chanting  loose  songs  ? 
There  was  to  be  dancing  in  a  ring  now,  but  dancing  of  monks 
and  laity  in  fraternal  love  and  divine  joy,  and  the  music  was 
to  be  the  music  of  hymns.  As  for  the  collections  from  street 
passengers,  they  were  to  be  greater  than  ever,  —  not  for  gross 
and  superfluous  suppers,  but  for  the  benefit  of  tlie  hungry 
and  needy;    and,  besides,  there  was  the  collecting  of  the 


180  ROMOLA 

Anathema,  or  the  Vanities  to  be  laid  on  the  great  pyramidal 
bonfire. 

Troops  of  young  inquisitors  went  from  house  to  house 
on  this  exciting  business  of  asking  that  the  Anathema  should 
be  given  up  to  them.  Perhaps,  after  the  more  avowed  vani- 
ties had  been  surrendered,  Madonna,  at  the  head  of  the 
household,  had  still  certain  little  reddened  balls  brought  fi'om 
the  Levant,  intended  to  produce  on  a  sallow  cheek  a  sudden 
bloom  of  the  most  ingenuous  falsity  ?  If  so,  let  her  bring 
them  down  and  cast  them  into  the  basket  of  doom.  Or, 
perhaps,  she  had  ringlets  and  coils  of  "  dead  hair ''  ?  If 
so,  let  her  bring  them  to  the  street-door,  not  on  her  head, 
but  in  her  hands,  and  publicly  renounce  the  Anathema  which 
hid  the  respectable  signs  of  age  under  a  ghastly  mockery  of 
youth.  And,  in  reward,  she  would  hear  fresh  young  voices 
pronounce  a  blessing  on  her  and  her  house. 

The  beardless  inquisitors,  organized  into  little  regiments, 
doubtless  took  to  their  work  very  willingly.  To  coerce  peo- 
ple by  shame,  or  other  spiritual  pelting,  into  the  giving  up 
of  things  it  will  probably  vex  them  to  part  with,  is  a  form 
of  piety  to  which  tlie  boyish  mind  is  most  readily  converted ; 
and  if  some  obstinately  wicked  men  got  enraged  and  threat- 
ened the  whip  or  the  cudgel,  this  also  was  exciting.  Savona- 
rola himself  evidently  felt  about  the  training  of  these  boys 
the  difficulty  weighing  on  all  minds  with  noble  yearnings 
towards  great  ends,  yet  with  that  imperfect  perception  of 
means  which  forces  a  resort  to  some  supernatural  constraining 
influence  as  the  only  sure  hope.  The  Florentine  youth  had 
had  very  evil  habits  and  foul  tongues  :  it  seemed  at  first  an 
unmixed  blessing  when  they  were  got  to  shout,  "  Viva 
Gesu!"  But  Savonarola  was  forced  at  last  to  say  from 
the  pulpit,  "  There  is  a  little  too  nuicli  shouting  of  '  Viva 
Gesii  !  '   This  constant  utterance  of  sacred  words  brings  them 


THE   PYRAMID   OF  VANITIES  181 

into  contempt.  Let  me  have  no  more  of  tliat  shouting  till 
the  next  Festa/^ 

Nevertheless^  as  the  long  stream  of  white-robed  youtli- 
fulness,  with  its  little  red  crosses  and  olive  wreaths^  had 
gone  to  the  Duomo  at  dawn  this  morning  to  receive  the  com- 
munion from  the  hands  of  Savonarola^  it  was  a  sight  of 
beauty ;  and^  doubtless,  many  of  those  young  souls  were  lay- 
ing up  memories  of  hope  and  awe  that  might  save  them  from 
ever  resting  in  a  merely  vulgar  view  of  their  work  as  men 
and  citizens.  There  is  no  kind  of  conscious  obedience  that  is 
not  an  advance  on  lawlessness,  and  these  boys  became  the 
generation  of  men  who  fought  greatly  and  endured  greatly  in 
the  last  struggle  of  their  Republic.  Now,  in  the  interme- 
diate hours  between  the  early  communion  and  dinner-time, 
they  were  making  their  last  perambulations  to  collect  alms  and 
vanities,  and  this  was  why  Romola  saw  the  slim  white  figures 
moving  to  and  fro  about  the  base  of  the  great  pyramid. 

"  What  think  you  of  this  folly,  Madonna  Eomola  ? " 
said  a  brusque  voice  close  to  her  ear.  "  Your  Piagnoni  w  ill 
make  V inferno  a  pleasant  prospect  to  us,  if  they  are  to  carry 
things  their  own  way  on  earth.  It 's  enough  to  fetch  a  cudgel 
over  the  mountains  to  see  painters,  like  Lorenzo  di  Credi  and 
young  Baccio  there,  helping  to  burn  colour  out  of  life  in  this 
fashion." 

"  My  good  Piero,"  said  Romola,  looking  up  and  smiling 
at  the  grim  man,  "  even  you  must  be  glad  to  see  some  of 
these  things  burnt.  Look  at  those  gewgaws  and  wigs  and 
rouge-pots :  I  have  heard  you  talk  as  indignantly  against 
those  things  as  Fra  Girolamo  himself." 

"  What  then  ?  "  said  Piero,  turning  round  on  her  sharply. 
"  I  never  said  a  woman  should  make  a  black  patch  of  herself 
against  the  background.  Va !  Madonna  Antigone,  it 's  a 
shame  for  a  woman  with  your  hair  and  shoukhu's  to  run  into 


182  ROMOLA 

such  nonsense,  —  leave  it  to  women  who  are  not  worth  paint- 
ing. What !  the  most  holy  Virgin  herseK  has  always  been 
dressed  well;  that's  the  doctrine  of  the  Church: — talk  of 
heresy,  indeed  !  And  I  should  like  to  know  what  the  excel- 
lent Messer  Bardo  would  have  said  to  the  burning  of  the  divine 
poets  by  these  Frati,  who  are  no  better  an  imitation  of  men 
than  if  they  were  onions  with  the  bulbs  uppermost.  Look  at 
that  Petrarca  sticking  up  beside  a  rouge-pot :  do  the  idiots 
pretend  that  the  heavenly  Laura  was  a  painted  harridan? 
And  Boccaccio,  now  :  do  you  mean  to  say,  Madonna  Romola, 
—  you  who  are  fit  to  be  a  model  for  a  wise  Saint  Catherine  of 
Egypt,  —  do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  never  read  the  stories 
of  the  immortal  Messer  Giovanni  ?  " 

'^It  is  true  I  have  read  them,  Piero,"  said  Romola. 
"  Some  of  them  a  great  many  times  over,  when  I  was  a  little 
girl.  I  used  to  get  the  book  down  when  my  father  was 
asleep,  so  that  I  could  read  to  myself.^^ 

"  Ebbene  ?  "  said  Piero,  in  a  fiercely  challenging  tone. 

"  There  are  some  things  in  them  I  do  not  want  ever  to 
forget/'  said  Romola ;  "  but  you  must  confess,  Piero,  that  a 
great  many  of  those  stories  are  only  about  low  deceit  for  the 
lowest  ends.  Men  do  not  want  books  to  make  them  think 
lightly  of  vice,  as  if  life  were  a  vulgar  joke.  And  I  cannot 
blame  Fra  Girolamo  for  teaching  that  we  owe  our  time  to 
something  better.'" 

"  Yes,  yes,  it 's  very  well  to  say  so  now  you  Ve  read 
them,"  said  Piero,  bitterly,  turning  on  his  heel  and  walking 
away  from  her. 

Romola,  too,  walked  on,  smiling  at  Piero's  innuendo, 
with  a  sort  of  tenderness  towards  the  old  painter's  anger, 
because  she  knew  that  her  father  would  have  felt  something 
like  it.  For  herself,  she  was  conscious  of  no  inward  collision 
with  the  strict  and  sombre  view  of  pleasure  which  t(;nded  to 


J 


A  Groito  in  th'e  Rucellai  Gardens 


THE    PYRAMID   OF   VANITIES  183 

repress  poetry  in  the  attempt  to  repress  vice.  Sorrow  and 
joy  have  each  their  peculiar  narrowness;  and  a  religious 
enthusiasm  like  Savonarola's  which  ultimately  blesses  man- 
kind by  giving  the  soul  a  strong  propulsion  towards  sympathy 
with  pain,  indignation  against  wrong,  and  the  subjugation  of 
sensual  desire,  must  always  incur  the  reproach  of  a  great 
negation.  Romola's  life  had  given  her  an  affinity  for  sadness 
which  inevitably  made  her  unjust  towards  merriment.  That 
subtle  result  of  culture  which  we  call  Taste  was  subdued  by 
the  need  for  deeper  motive ;  just  as  the  nicer  demands  of  the 
palate  are  annihilated  by  urgent  hunger.  Moving  habitually 
among  scenes  of  suffering,  and  carrying  woman's  heaviest 
disappointment  in  her  heart,  the  severity  which  allied  itself 
with  self-renouncing  beneficent  strength  had  no  dissonance 
for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

TESSA    ABROAD    AND    AT   HOME 

A  NOTHER  figure  easily  recognized  by  us  —  a  figure  not 
/-\  clad  in  black,  but  in  the  old  red,  green,  and  white 
—  was  approaching  the  piazza  that  morning  to  see  the 
Carnival.  She  came  from  an  opposite  point,  for  Tessa  no 
longer  lived  on  the  hill  of  San  Giorgio.  After  what  had 
happened  there  with  Baldassarre,  Tito  had  thought  it  best  for 
that  and  other  reasons  to  find  her  a  new  home,  but  still  in  a 
quiet  airy  quarter,  in  a  house  bordering  on  the  wide  garden 
grounds  north  of  the  Porta  Santa  Croce. 

Tessa  was  not  come  out  sight-seeing  without  special  leave. 
Tito  had  been  with  her  the  evening  before,  and  she  had  kept 
back  the  entreaty  which  she  felt  to  be  swelling  her  heart  and 
throat  until  she  saw  him  in  a  state  of  radiant  ease,  with  one 
arm  round  the  sturdy  Lillo,  and  the  other  resting  gently  on 
her  own  shoulder  as  she  tried  to  make  the  tiny  Ninna  steady 
on  her  legs.  She  was  sure  then  that  the  weariness  with  which 
he  had  come  in  and  flung  himself  into  his  chair  had  quite 
melted  away  from  his  brow  and  lips.  Tessa  had  not  been 
slow  at  learning  a  few  small  stratagems  by  which  she  might 
avoid  vexing  Naldo  and  yet  have  a  little  of  her  own  way. 
She  could  read  nothing  else,  but  she  had  learned  to  read  a 
good  deal  in  her  husband's  face. 

And  certainly  the  charm  of  that  bright,  gentle-humoured 
Tito  who  woke  up  under  the  Loggia  de'  Cerchi  on  a  Lenten 
morning  five  years  before,  not  having  yet  given  any  hostages 
to  deceit,  7ievcr  returned  so  nearly  as  in  the  person  of  Naldo, 


TESSA   ABROAD   AND   AT   HOME         185 

seated  in  that  straiglit-backed,  carved  arm-cliair  which  he  liad 
provided  for  his  comfort  when  he  came  to  see  Tessa  and  the 
children.  Tito  himself  was  surprised  at  the  growing  sense  of 
relief  which  he  felt  in  these  moments.  No  guile  was  needed 
towards  Tessa  :  she  was  too  ignorant  and  too  innocent  to  sus- 
pect him  of  anything.  And  the  little  voices  calling  him 
"  Babbo  "  were  very  sweet  in  his  ears  for  the  short  while  that 
he  heard  them.  "When  he  thought  of  leaving  Florence^  he 
never  thought  of  leaving  Tessa  and  the  little  ones  behind. 
He  was  very  fond  of  these  round-cheeked,  Avide-eyed  human 
things  that  clung  about  him  and  knew  no  evil  of  him.  And 
wherever  affection  can  spring,  it  is  like  the  green  leaf  and  the 
blossom,  —  pure,  and  breathing  purity,  whatever  soil  it  may 
grow  in.  Poor  Eomola,  with  all  her  self-sacrificing  effort, 
was  really  helping  to  harden  Tito^s  nature  by  chilling  it  with 
a  positive  dislike  which  had  beforehand  seemed  impossible  in 
him ;  but  Tessa  kept  open  the  fountains  of  kindness. 

"Ninna  is  very  good  without  me  now,^^  began  Tessa, 
feeling  her  request  rising  very  high  in  her  throat,  and  letting 
Ninna  seat  herself  on  the  floor.  "  I  can  leave  her  Avith  Monna 
Lisa  any  time ;  and  if  she  is  in  the  cradle  and  cries,  Lillo  is 
as  sensible  as  can  be,  —  he  goes  and  thumps  Monna  Lisa." 

Lillo,  whose  great  dark  eyes  looked  all  the  darker  be- 
cause his  curls  were  of  a  light  brown  like  his  mother's,  jumped 
off  Babbo's  knee,  and  went  forthwith  to  attest  his  intelligence 
by  thumping  ]\Ionna  Lisa,  who  was  shaking  her  head  slowly 
over  her  spinning  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  A  wonderful  boy  !  ^'  said  Tito,  laughing. 

"  Is  n't  he  ?  "  said  Tessa,  eagerly,  getting  a  little  closer 
to  him ;  "  and  I  might  go  and  see  the  Carnival  to-morrow, 
just  for  an  hour  or  two,  might  n't  1?" 

"  Oh,  you  wicked  pigeon ! "  said  Tito,  pinching  her 
cheek ;  "  those  are  your  longings,  are  they  ?    "What  have  you 


186  ROMOLA 

to  do  with  carnivals  now  you  are  an  old  woman  with  two 
children  ?  " 

"But  old  women  like  to  see  things,"  said  Tessa,  her 
lower  lip  hanging  a  little.  "  Monna  Lisa  said  she  should 
like  to  gOj  only  she 's  so  deaf  she  can't  hear  what  is  behind 
her,  and  she  thinks  we  couldn't  take  care  of  both  the  chil- 
dren." 

"  No,  indeed,  Tessa,''  said  Tito,  looking  rather  grave, 
"  you  must  not  think  of  taking  the  children  into  the  crowded 
streets,  else  I  shall  be  angry." 

"  But  I  have  never  been  into  the  piazza  without  leave," 
said  Tessa,  in  a  frightened,  pleading  tone,  "  since  the  Holy 
Saturday,  and  I  think  Nofri  is  dead,  for  you  know  the  poor 
■madre  died ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  Carnival  I  saw 
once  :  it  was  so  pretty  —  all  roses  and  a  king  and  queen 
under  them  —  and  singing.  I  liked  it  better  than  the  San 
Giovanni." 

"  But  there  's  nothing  like  that  now,  my  Tessa.  They 
are  going  to  make  a  bonfire  in  the  piazza,  —  that 's  all.  But 
I  cannot  let  you  go  out  by  yourself  in  the  evening." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  I  don't  want  to  go  in  the  evening.  I 
only  want  to  go  and  see  the  procession  by  daylight.  There 
will  be  a  procession,  —  is  it  not  true  ?  " 

"  Yes,  after  a  sort,"  said  Tito,  "  as  lively  as  a  flight  of 
cranes.  You  must  not  expect  roses  and  glittering  kings  and 
queens,  my  Tessa.  However,  I  suppose  any  string  of  people 
to  be  called  a  procession  will  please  your  blue  eyes.  And 
there 's  a  thing  they  have  raised  in  the  Piazza  de'  Signori  for 
the  bonfire.  You  may  like  to  see  that.  But  come  home 
early,  and  look  like  a  grave  little  old  woman  ;  and  if  you  see 
any  men  with  feathers  and  swords,  keep  out  of  tlieir  way : 
they  are  very  fierce,  and  like  to  cut  old  women's  heads  off." 

"  Santa  Madonna  !   where  do  they  come  from  ?     Ah ! 


I 


TESSA   ABROAD   AND   AT   HOME        187 

you  are  laughing ;  it  is  not  so  bad.  But  I  will  keep  away 
from  them.  Only/'  Tessa  went  on  in  a  whisper,  putting  lier 
lips  near  Naldo's  ear,  "  if  I  might  take  Lillo  with  me  !  He 
is  very  sensible  .■'' 

"  But  who  will  thump  Monua  Lisa  then,  if  she  does  n^t 
hear?''  said  Tito,  finding  it  difficult  not  to  laugh,  but  think- 
ing it  necessary  to  look  serious.  "  No,  Tessa,  you  could  not 
take  care  of  Lillo  if  you  got  into  a  crowd,  and  he 's  too  heavy 
for  you  to  carry  him." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Tessa,  rather  sadly,  "  and  he  likes  to 
run  away.  I  forgot  that.  Then  I  will  go  alone.  But  now 
look  at  Ninna,  —  you  have  not  looked  at  her  enough." 

Ninna  was  a  blue-eyed  thing,  at  the  tottering,  tumbling 
age,  —  a  fair  solid,  which,  like  a  loaded  die,  found  its  base 
with  a  constancy  that  warranted  prediction.  Tessa  went  to 
snatch  her  up,  and  when  Babbo  was  paying  due  attention  to 
the  recent  teeth  and  other  marvels,  she  said,  in  a  whisper, 
"  And  shall  I  buy  some  confetti  for  the  children  ?  " 

Tito  drew  some  small  coins  from  his  scarsella,  and 
poured  them  into  her  palm. 

"That  will  buy  no  end,"  said  Tessa,  delighted  at  this 
abundance.  "  I  shall  not  mind  going  without  Lillo  so  much, 
if  I  bring  him  something." 

So  Tessa  set  out  in  the  morning  towards  the  great 
piazza  where  the  bonfire  was  to  be.  She  did  not  think  the 
February  breeze  cold  enough  to  demand  further  covering 
than  her  green  woollen  dress.  A  mantle  would  have  been 
oppressive,  for  it  would  have  hidden  a  new  necklace  and  a 
new  clasp,  mounted  with  silver,  the  only  ornamental  presents 
Tito  had  ever  made  her.  Tessa  did  not  think  at  all  of  show- 
ing her  figure,  for  no  one  had  ever  told  her  it  was  pretty ; 
but  she  was  quite  sure  that  her  necklace  and  clasp  were  of 
the  prettiest  sort  ever  worn  by  the  richest  contadiua,  and  she 


188  llOMOLA 

arranged  her  white  hood  over  her  head  so  that  the  front  of 
her  necklace  might  be  well  displayed.  These  ornaments,  she 
considered,  must  inspire  respect  for  her  as  the  wife  of  some 
one  who  could  afford  to  buy  them. 

She  tripped  along  very  cheerily  in  the  February  sunshine, 
thinking  much  of  the  purchases  for  the  little  ones  with  which 
she  was  to  fill  her  small  basket,  and  not  thinking  at  all  of 
any  one  who  might  be  observhig  her.  Yet  her  descent  from 
her  upper  story  into  the  street  had  been  watched,  and  she 
was  being  kept  in  sight  as  she  walked  by  a  person  who  had 
often  waited  in  vain  to  see  if  it  were  not  Tessa  who  lived  in 
that  house  to  which  he  had  more  than  once  dogged  Tito. 
Baldassarre  was  carrying  a  package  of  yarn :  he  was  con- 
stantly employed  in  that  way,  as  a  means  of  earning  his 
scanty  bread,  and  keeping  the  sacred  fire  of  vengeance  alive ; 
and  he  had  come  out  of  his  way  this  morning,  as  he  had 
often  done  before,  that  he  might  pass  by  the  house  to  which 
he  had  followed  Tito  in  the  evening.  His  long  imprison- 
ment had  so  intensified  his  timid  suspicion  and  his  belief  in 
some  diabolic  fortune  favouring  Tito,  that  he  had  not  dared 
to  pursue  him,  except  under  cover  of  a  crowd  or  of  the  dark- 
ness ;  he  felt,  with  instinctive  horror,  that  if  Tito's  eyes  fell 
upon  him,  he  should  again  be  held  up  to  obloquy,  again  be 
dragged  away ;  his  weapon  would  be  taken  from  him,  and  he 
should  be  cast  helpless  into  a  prison-cell.  His  fierce  pur- 
pose had  become  as  stealthy  as  a  serpent's,  which  depends 
for  its  prey  on  one  dart  of  the  fang.  Justice  was  weak  and 
unfriended ;  and  he  could  not  hear  again  the  voice  that  pealed 
the  promise  of  vengeance  in  the  Duomo ;  he  had  been  there 
again  and  again,  but  that  voice,  too,  had  apparently  been  sti- 
fled by  cunning  strong-armed  wickedness.  For  a  long  wliile 
Baldassarre's  ruling  thought  was  to  ascertain  whether  Tito 
still  M'ore  the  armour,  for  now  at  last  his  fainting  hope  would 


TESSA   ABROAD   AND   AT   HOME        189 

have  been  contented  with  a  successful  stab  on  this  side  the 
grave ;  but  he  would  never  risk  his  precious  knife  again.  It 
was  a  weary  time  he  had  had  to  wait  for  the  chance  of  an- 
swering this  question  by  touching  Tito's  back  in  the  press 
of  the  street.  Since  then,  the  knowledge  that  the  sharp  steel 
was  useless,  and  that  he  had  no  hope  but  in  some  new  device, 
had  fallen  with  leaden  weight  on  his  enfeebled  mind.  A  dim 
vision  of  winning  one  of  those  two  wives  to  aid  him  came 
before  him  continually,  and  continually  slid  away.  The  wife 
who  had  lived  on  the  hill  was  no  longer  there.  If  he  could 
find  her  again,  he  might  grasp  some  thread  of  a  project,  and 
work  his  way  to  more  clearness. 

And  this  morning  he  had  succeeded.  He  was  quite 
certain  now  where  this  wife  lived,  and  as  he  walked,  bent 
a  little  under  his  burden  of  yarn,  yet  keeping  the  green  and 
white  figure  in  sight,  his  mind  was  dwelling  upon  her  and 
her  circumstances  as  feeble  eyes  dwell  on  lines  and  colours, 
trying  to  interpret  them  into  consistent  significance. 

Tessa  had  to  pass  through  various  long  streets  without 
seeing  any  other  sign  of  the  Carnival  than  unusual  groups  of 
the  country  people  in  their  best  garments,  and  that  disposi- 
tion in  everybody  to  chat  and  loiter  which  marks  the  early 
hours  of  a  holiday,  before  the  spectacle  has  begun.  Presently, 
in  her  disappointetl  search  for  remarkable  objects,  her  eyes 
fell  on  a  man  witli  a  pedlcr's  basket  before  him,  who  seemed 
to  be  selling  nothing  but  little  red  crosses  to  all  the  passen- 
gers. A  little  red  cross  would  be  pretty  to  hang  up  over  her 
bed ;  it  would  also  help  to  keep  oS  harm,  and  would  perliaps 
make  Niniia  stronger.  Tessa  went  to  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  that  she  might  ask  the  pedler  the  price  of  the  crosses, 
fearing  that  they  would  cost  a  little  too  much  for  her  to 
spare  from  her  purchase  of  sweets.  The  pedler's  back  had 
been  turned  towards  her  hitherto,  but  when  she  came  near 


190  ROMOLA 

liim  she  recognized  an  old  acquaintance  of  the  Mercato 
Bratti  Ferravccchi,  and,  accustomed  to  feel  that  she  was  to 
avoid  old  acquaintances,  she  turned  away  again  and  passed 
to  the  other  side  of  the  street.  But  Bratti^s  eye  was  too  well 
practised  in  looking  out  at  the  corner  after  possible  cus- 
tomers, for  her  movement  to  have  escaped  him,  and  she  was 
presently  arrested  by  a  tap  on  the  arm  from  one  of  the  red 
crosses. 

"  Young  woman,"  said  Bratti,  as  she  unwillingly  turned 
her  head,  "  you  come  from  some  castello  a  good  way  off,  it 
seems  to  me,  else  you  'd  never  think  of  walking  about, 
this  blessed  Carnival,  without  a  red  cross  in  your  hand. 
Santa  Madonna  !  Four  white  quattrini  is  a  small  price 
to  pay  for  your  soul,  —  prices  rise  in  purgatory,  let  rae 
tell  you." 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  one,"  said  Tessa,  hastily,  "  but  I 
couldn't  spare  four  white  quattrini." 

Bratti  had  at  first  regarded  Tessa  too  abstractedly  as 
a  mere  customer  to  look  at  her  with  any  scrutiny,  but  when 
she  began  to  speak  he  exclaimed :  "  By  the  head  of  San 
Giovanni,  it  must  be  the  little  Tessa,  and  looking  as  fresh  as 
a  ripe  apple  !  What !  you  've  done  none  the  worse,  then, 
for  running  away  from  father  Nofri?  You  were  in  the  right 
of  it,  for  he  goes  on  crutches  now,  and  a  crabbed  fellow  with 
crutches  is  dangerous ;  he  can  reach  across  the  house  and 
beat  a  woman  as  he  sits." 

"  I  'm  married,"  said  Tessa,  rather  demurely,  remember- 
ing Naldo's  command  that  she  should  behave  with  gravity ; 
"  and  my  husband  takes  great  care  of  me." 

"  Ah,  then  you  Ve  fallen  on  your  feet !  Nofri  said  you 
were  good-for-nothing  vermin  ;  but  what  then  ?  An  ass  may 
bray  a  good  while  before  he  shakes  the  stars  down.  I  always 
said  you  did  well  to  run  away,  and  it  is  n't  often  Bratti 's  in 


TESSA   ABROAD   AND   AT  HOME         191 

the  wrong.  Well,  and  so  you  Ve  got  a  husband  and  plenty 
of  money  ?  Then  you  '11  never  think  much  of  giving  four 
white  quattrini  for  a  red  cross.  I  get  no  profit ;  but  what 
with  the  famine  and  the  new  religion,  all  other  merchandise 
is  gone  down.  You  live  in  the  country  where  the  chestnuts 
are  plenty,  eh  ?  You  've  never  wanted  for  polenta,  I  can 
see." 

"  No,  I  Ve  never  wanted  anything,' '  said  Tessa,  still  on 
her  guard. 

"  Then  you  can  afford  to  buy  a  cross.  I  got  a  Padre  to 
bless  them,  and  you  get  blessing  and  all  for  four  quattrini. 
It  is  n't  for  the  profit ;  I  hardly  get  a  danaro  by  the  whole 
lot.  But  then  they  're  holy  wares,  and  it 's  getting  harder 
and  harder  work  to  see  your  way  to  Paradise  :  the  very 
Carnival  is  like  Holy  Week,  and  the  least  you  can  do  to 
keep  the  Devil  from  getting  the  upper  hand  is  to  buy  a 
cross.  God  guard  you !  think  what  the  Devil's  tooth  is ! 
You  've  seen  him  biting  the  man  in  San  Giovanni,  I  should 
hope?" 

Tessa  felt  much  teased  and  frightened.  "  Oh,  Bratti," 
she  said,  with  a  discomposed  face,  "  I  want  to  buy  a  great 
many  confetti :  I  've  got  little  Lillo  and  Ninna  at  home. 
And  nice  coloured  sweet  things  cost  a  great  deal.  And  they 
will  not  like  the  cross  so  well,  though  I  know  it  would  be 
good  to  have  it." 

"Come,  then,"  said  Bratti,  fond  of  laying  up  a  store  of 
merits  by  imagining  possible  extortions  and  then  heroically 
renouncing  them,  "  since  you  're  an  old  acquaintance,  you 
shall  have  it  for  two  quattrini.  It 's  making  you  a  present 
of  the  cross,  to  say  nothing  of  the  blessing." 

Tessa  was  reaching  out  her  two  quattrini  with  trembling 
hesitation,  when  Bratti  said  abruptly,  "  Stop  a  bit  !  Where 
do  vou  live  ?  " 


192  ROMOLA 

"  Oh,  a  long  way  off/*  she  answered,  almost  automati- 
cally, being  preoccupied  with  her  quattrini;  ''beyond  San 
Ambrogio,  in  tlie  Yia  Piccola,  at  the  top  of  the  house  where 
the  wood  is  stacked  below/* 

"  Very  good,**  said  Bratti,  in  a  patronizing  tone  ;  "  then 
1*11  let  you  have  the  cross  on  trust,  and  call  for  the 
money.  So  you  live  inside  the  gates  ?  Well,  well,  I  shall 
be  passing.** 

''  No,  no  !  **  said  Tessa,  frightened  lest  Naldo  should  be 
angry  at  this  revival  of  an  old  acquaintance.  "  I  can  spare 
the  money.     Take  it  now.** 

"No,**  said  Bratti,  resolutely;  "I*m  not  a  hard- 
hearted pedler.  I  '11  call  and  see  if  you  *ve  got  any  rags, 
and  you  shall  make  a  bargain.  See,  here  *s  the  cross ;  and 
there  *s  Pi])po*s  shop  not  far  behind  you  :  you  can  go  and  fill 
your  basket,  and  I  must  go  and  get  mine  empty.  Addio, 
piccina." 

Bratti  went  on  his  way,  and  Tessa,  stimulated  to  change 
her  money  into  confetti  before  further  accident,  went  into 
Pippo's  shop,  a  little  fluttered  by  the  thought  that  she  had 
let  Bratti  know  more  about  her  than  her  husbiind  would 
approve.  There  were  certainly  more  dangers  in  coming  to  see 
the  Carnival  than  in  staying  at  home  ;  and  she  would  liave 
felt  this  more  strongly  if  she  had  known  that  the  wicked  old 
man  who  had  wanted  to  kill  her  husband  on  the  hill  was  still 
keeping  her  in  sight.  But  she  had  not  noticed  the  man  with 
the  burdoi  on  his  back. 

The  consciousness  of  having  a  small  basketful  of  things 
to  make  the  children  glad  dispersed  her  anxiety,  and  as  she 
entered  the  Via  de'  Libraj  her  face  had  its  usual  expression 
of  childlike  content.  And  now  she  thought  there  was  really 
a  procession  coming,  for  she  saw  white  robes  and  a  banner, 
and  her  heart  began  to  palpitate  with  expectation.     She  stood 


Thf:  shrine  of  the  Madonna  dell'  Impruneta, 
by  Mk-helozzi  and  L.  della  Robbia 


TESSA   ABROAD   AND   AT   HOME        193 

a  little  aside,  but  in  that  narrow  street  there  was  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  obliged  to  look  very  close.  The  banner  was 
pretty  :  it  was  the  Holy  Mother  with  the  Babe,  whose  love 
for  her  Tessa  had  believed  in  more  and  more  since  she  had 
had  her  babies ;  and  the  figures  in  white  had  not  only  green 
wreaths  on  their  heads,  but  little  red  crosses  by  their  side, 
which  caused  her  some  satisfaction  that  she  also  had  her  red 
cross.  Certainly  they  looked  as  beautiful  as  the  angels  on 
the  clouds  ;  and  to  Tessa^s  mind  they,  too,  had  a  background 
of  cloud,  like  everything  else  that  came  to  her  in  life.  How 
and  whence  did  they  come  ?  She  did  not  mind  much  about 
knowing.  But  one  thing  surprised  her  as  newer  than 
wreaths  and  crosses  ;  it  was  that  some  of  the  white  figures 
carried  baskets  between  them.  What  could  the  baskets  be 
for? 

But  now  they  were  very  near,  and,  to  her  astonishment, 
they  wheeled  aside  and  came  straight  up  to  her.  She  trem- 
bled as  she  would  have  done  if  Saint  Michael  in  the  picture 
had  shaken  his  head  at  her,  and  was  conscious  of  nothing  but 
terrified  wonder  till  she  saw  close  to  her  a  round,  boyish  face, 
lower  than  her  own,  and  heard  a  treble  voice  saying,  "  Sister, 
you  carry  the  Anathema  about  you.  Yield  it  up  to  the 
blessed  Gesu,  and  He  will  adorn  you  with  the  gems  of  His 
grace." 

Tessa  was  only  more  frightened,  understanding  nothing. 
Her  first  conjecture  settled  on  her  basket  of  sweets.  They 
wanted  that,  these  alarming  angels.  Oh,  dear,  dear  !  She 
looked  down  at  it. 

"  No,  sister,"  said  a  taller  youth,  pointing  to  her  neck- 
lace and  the  clasp  of  her  belt,  "  it  is  those  vanities  that  arc 
the  Anathema.  Take  otl'  that  necklace  and  unclasp  that  belt, 
that  they  may  be  burned  in  the  holy  Bonfire  of  Vanities,  and 
saveyow  from  burning." 

VOL.  II. — 13 


194  ROMOLA 

"  It  is  the  truths  mj  sister,"  said  a  still  taller  youth,  evi- 
dently the  archangel  of  this  band,  "Listen  to  these  voices 
speaking  the  divine  message.  You  already  carry  a  red  cross  : 
let  that  be  your  only  adornment.  Yield  up  your  necklace 
and  belt,  and  you  shall  obtain  grace." 

This  was  too  much.  Tessa,  overcome  with  awe,  dared 
not  say  "  no,"  but  she  was  equally  unable  to  render  up  her 
beloved  necklace  and  clasp.  Her  pouting  lips  were  quiver- 
ing, the  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes,  and  a  great  drop  fell.  For 
a  moment  she  ceased  to  see  anything;  she  felt  nothing  but 
confused  terror  and  misery.  Suddenly  a  gentle  hand  was 
laid  on  her  arm,  and  a  soft,  wonderful  voice,  as  if  the  Holy  Ma- 
donna were  speaking,  said,  "  Do  not  be  afraid ;  no  one  shall 
harm  you." 

Tessa  looked  up  and  saw  a  lady  in  black,  with  a  young 
heavenly  face  and  loving  hazel  eyes.  She  had  never  seen  any 
one  like  this  lady  before,  and  under  other  circumstances  might 
have  had  awestruck  thoughts  about  her ;  but  now  everything 
else  was  overcome  by  the  sense  that  loving  protection  was 
near  her.  The  tears  only  fell  the  faster,  relieving  her  swelling 
heart,  as  she  looked  up  at  the  heavenly  face,  and,  putting  her 
hand  to  her  necklace,  said  sobbingly,  — 

"  I  can't  give  them  to  be  burnt.  My  husband  —  he 
bought  them  for  me  —  and  they  are  so  pretty  —  and  Ninna 
• —  oh,  I  wish  I  'd  never  come." 

'^Do  not  ask  her  for  them,"  said  Romola,  speaking  to 
the  white-robed  boys  in  a  tone  of  mild  authority.  "  It  an- 
swers no  good  end  for  people  to  give  up  such  things  against 
their  will.  That  is  not  what  Fra  Girolamo  approves :  he 
would  have  such  things  given  up  freely." 

Madonna  Romola's  word  was  not  to  be  resisted,  and  the 
white  train  moved  on.  They  even  moved  with  haste,  as  if 
some  new  object  had  caught  their  eyes ;  and  Tessa  felt  with 


TESSA   ABROAD   AND   AT   HOME        195 

bliss  that  they  were  gone,  and  that  her  necklace  and  clasp 
were  still  with  her. 

"  Oh,  I  will  go  back  to  the  house,"  she  said,  still  agi- 
tated ;  "  I  will  go  nowhere  else.  But  if  I  should  meet  thim 
again,  and  you  not  be  there  ?  "  she  added,  expecting  everything 
from  this  heavenly  lady. 

"  Stay  a  little,"  said  Romola.  "  Come  with  me  under 
this  doorway,  and  we  will  hide  the  necklace  and  clasp,  and 
then  you  will  be  in  no  danger.'' 

She  led  Tessa  under  the  archway,  and  said,  "  Now,  can 
we  find  room  for  your  necklace  and  belt  in  your  basket? 
Ah !  your  basket  is  full  of  crisp  things  that  will  break :  let 
us  be  careful,  and  lay  the  heavy  necklace  under  them." 

It  was  like  a  change  in  a  dream  to  Tessa  —  the  escape 
from  nightmare  into  floating  safety  and  joy  —  to  find  herself 
taken  care  of  by  this  lady,  so  lovely  and  powerful  and  gentle. 
She  let  Eomola  unfasten  her  necklace  and  clasp,  while  she 
herself  did  nothing  but  look  up  at  the  face  that  bent  over 
her. 

"  They  are  sweets  for  Lillo  and  Ninna,"  she  said,  as 
Eomola  carefully  lifted  up  the  light  parcels  in  the  basket,  and 
placed  the  ornaments  below  them. 

"  Those  are  your  children  ? "  said  Eomola,  smiling. 
"  And  you  would  rather  go  home  to  them  than  to  see  any 
more  of  the  Carnival  ?  Else  you  have  not  far  to  go  to  the 
Piazza  de'  Signori,  and  there  you  would  see  the  pile  for  the 
great  bonfire." 

"  No,  oh,  no  !  "  said  Tessa,  eagerly  ;  "  I  shall  never  like 
bonfires  again.     I  will  go  back." 

"You  live  at  some  castello,  doubtless,"  said  Eomola, not 
waiting  for  an  answer.    "  Towards  which  gate  do  you  go  ?  " 

"  Towards  Por'  Santa  Croce." 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Eomola,  taking  her  by  the  hand  and 


196  ROMOLA 

leading  her  to  the  corner  of  a  street  nearly  opposite.  "  If  you 
go  down  there/''  she  said,  pausing,  "you  will  soon  be  in  a 
straight  road.  And  I  must  leave  you  now,  because  some  one 
else  expects  me.  You  will  not  be  frightened.  Your  pretty 
things  are  quite  safe  now.     Addio." 

"  Addio,  Madonna,"  said  Tessa,  almost  in  a  whisper,  not 
knowing  what  else  it  would  be  right  to  say  ;  and  in  an  instant 
the  heavenly  lady  was  gone.  Tessa  turned  to  catch  a  last 
glimpse,  but  she  only  saw  the  tall  gliding  figure  vanish  round 
the  projecting  stonework.  So  she  went  on  her  way  in  wonder, 
longing  to  be  once  more  safely  housed  with  Monna  Lisa, 
undesirous  of  carnivals  forevermore. 

Baldassarre  had  kept  Tessa  in  sight  till  the  moment  of 
her  parting  with  Eomola  ;  then  he  went  away  with  his  bundle 
of  yarn.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  discerned  a  clew  which 
might  guide  him  if  he  could  only  grasp  the  necessary  details 
firmly  enough.  He  had  seen  the  two  wives  together,  and  the 
sight  had  brought  to  his  conceptions  that  vividness  which  had 
been  wanting  before.  His  power  of  imagining  facts  needed 
to  be  reinforced  continually  by  the  senses.  The  tall  wife  was 
the  noble  and  rightful  wife ;  she  had  the  blood  in  her  that 
would  be  readily  kindled  to  resentment ;  she  would  know  what 
scholarship  was,  and  how  it  might  lie  locked  in  by  the  ob- 
structions of  the  stricken  body,  like  a  treasure  buried  by 
earthquake.  She  could  believe  him :  she  would  be  inclined 
to  believe  him,  if  he  proved  to  her  that  her  husband  was 
unfaithful.  Women  cared  about  that :  they  would  take  ven- 
geance for  that.  If  this  wife  of  Tito^s  loved  him,  she  would 
have  a  sense  of  injury  which  Baldassarre's  mind  dwelt  on  with 
keen  longing,  as  if  it  would  be  the  strength  of  another  Will 
added  to  his  own,  the  strength  of  another  mind  to  form 
devices. 

Both  these  wives  had  been  kind  to  Baldassarre,  and  their 


o 


r 


^i 


^^ 


-A  y^ 


TESSA   ABROAD   AND  AT   HOME         197 

acts  toward  him,  being  bound  up  with  the  very  image  of  them, 
had  not  vanished  from  his  memory ;  yet  the  thought  of  their 
pain  could  not  present  itself  to  him  as  a  check.  To  him  it 
seemed  that  pain  was  the  order  of  the  world  for  all  except 
the  hard  and  base.  If  any  were  innocent,  if  any  were  noble, 
where  could  the  utmost  gladness  lie  for  them  ?  Where  it  lay 
for  him,  —  in  unconquerable  hatred  and  triumphant  vengeance. 
But  he  must  be  cautious :  he  must  watch  this  wife  in  the  Yia 
de'  Bardi,  and  learn  more  of  her ;  for  even  here  frustration 
was  possible.  There  was  no  power  for  him  now  but  in 
patience. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

MONNA   BRIGIDA's    CONVERSION 

WHEN  Romola  said  that  some  one  else  expected 
her,  slie  meant  her  cousin  Brigida,  but  she  was 
far  from  suspecting  how  much  that  good  kins- 
woman was  in  need  of  her.  Returning  together  towards  the 
piazza,  they  had  descried  the  company  of  youths  coming  to  a 
stand  before  Tessa,  and  when  Romola,  having  approached 
near  enough  to  see  the  simple  little  contadina's  distress,  said, 
"Wait  for  me  a  moment,  Cousin,"  Monna  Brigida  said 
hastily,  "  Ah,  I  Avill  not  go  on  :  come  for  me  to  Boni^s  shop, 
—  I  shall  go  back  there." 

The  truth  was,  Monna  Brigida  had  a  consciousness  on 
the  one  hand  of  certain  "  vanities  "  carried  on  her  person,  and 
on  the  other  of  a  growing  alarm  lest  the  Piagnoni  should  be 
right  in  holding  that  rouge  and  false  hair  and  pearl  em- 
broidery endamaged  the  soul.  Their  serious  view  of  things 
filled  the  air  like  an  odour ;  nothing  seemed  to  have  exactly 
the  same  flavour  as  it  used  to  have ;  and  there  was  the  dear 
child  Romola,  in  her  youth  and  beauty,  leading  a  life  that  was 
uncomfortably  suggestive  of  rigorous  demands  on  woman. 
A  widow  at  fifty-five  whose  satisfaction  has  been  largely  drawn 
from  what  she  thinks  of  her  own  person,  and  what  she  be- 
lieves others  think  of  it,  requires  a  great  fund  of  imagination 
to  keep  her  spirits  buoyant.  And  ]\Ionna  Brigida  had  begun 
to  have  frequent  struggles  at  her  toilet.  If  her  soul  would 
prosper  better  without  them,  was  it  really  worth  while  to  put 
on  the  rouge  and  the  braids  ?     But  when  she  lifted  up  the 


MONNA   BRIGIDA'S   CONVERSION        199 

hand-mirror  and  saw  a  sallow  face  witli  baggy  cheeks^  and 
crows'-feet  that  were  not  to  be  dissimulated  by  any  simpering 
of  the  lips,  —  when  she  parted  her  gray  hair,  and  let  it  lie  in 
simple  Piagnone  fashion  round  her  face,  her  courage  failed. 
Monna  Berta  would  certainly  burst  out  laughing  at  her,  and 
call  her  an  old  hag ;  and  as  Monna  Berta  was  really  only 
fifty-two,  she  had  a  superiority  which  would  make  the  obser- 
vation cutting.  Every  woman  who  was  not  a  Piagnone  would 
give  a  shrug  at  the  sight  of  her,  and  the  men  would  accost 
her  as  if  she  were  their  grandmother.  Whereas  at  fifty-five 
a  woman  was  not  so  very  old,  —  she  only  required  making 
up  a  little.  So  the  rouge  and  the  braids  and  the  embroidered 
berretta  went  on  again,  and  Monna  Brigida  was  satisfied  with 
the  accustomed  effect ;  as  for  her  neck,  if  she  covered  it  up, 
people  might  suppose  it  was  too  old  to  show,  and,  on  the  con- 
trary, with  the  necklaces  round  it,  it  looked  better  than 
Monna  Berta^s.  This  very  day,  when  she  was  preparing  for 
the  Piagnone  Carnival,  such  a  struggle  had  occurred ;  and  the 
conflicting  fears  and  longings  which  caused  the  struggle, 
caused  her  to  turn  back  and  seek  refuge  in  the  druggist's 
shop  rather  than  encounter  the  collectors  of  the  Anathema 
when  Roraola  was  not  by  her  side.  But  Monna  Brigida  M-as 
not  quite  rapid  enough  in  her  retreat.  She  had  been  descried, 
even  before  she  turned  away,  by  the  white-robed  boys  in  the 
rear  of  those  who  wheeled  round  towards  Tessa ;  and  the 
willingness  with  which  Tessa  was  given  up  was,  perhaps, 
slightly  due  to  the  fact  that  part  of  the  troop  had  already 
accosted  a  personage  carrying  more  markedly  upon  her  the 
dangerous  weight  of  the  Anathema.  It  happened  that  several 
of  this  troop  were  at  the  youngest  age  taken  into  peculiar 
training ;  and  a  small  fellow  of  ten,  his  olive  wreath  resting 
above  cherubic  checks  and  wide  brown  eyes,  his  imagination 
really  possessed  with  a  hovering  awe  at  existence  as  something 


200  ROMOLA 

in  which  great  consequences  impended  on  being  good  or  bad, 
his  longings  nevertheless  running  in  the  direction  of  mastery 
and  mischief,  was  the  first  to  reach  Monna  Brigida  and  place 
himself  across  her  path.  She  felt  angry,  and  looked  for  an 
open  door;  but  there  was  not  one  at  hand,  and  by  attempting 
to  escape  now,  she  would  only  make  things  worse.  But  it 
w^as  not  the  cherubic-faced  young  one  who  first  addressed  her  ; 
it  was  a  youth  of  fifteen,  who  held  one  handle  of  a  wide 
basket. 

"Venerable  mother !^^  he  began,  "the  blessed  Jesns 
commands  you  to  give  up  the  Anathema  which  you  carry 
upon  you.  That  cap  embroidered  with  pearls,  those  jewels 
that  fasten  up  your  false  hair, — let  them  be  given  up  and 
sold  for  the  poor;  and  cast  the  hair  itself  away  from  you,  as 
a  lie  that  is  only  fit  for  burning.  Doubtless,  too,  you 
have  other  jewels  under  your  silk  mantle.''' 

"  Yes,  lady,"  said  the  youth  at  the  other  handle,  who 
had  many  of  Fra  Girolamo's  phrases  by  heart,  "  they  are  too 
heavy  for  you  :  they  are  heavier  than  a  millstone,  and  are 
weighthig  you  for  perdition.  Will  you  adorn  yourself  with 
the  hunger  of  the  poor,  and  be  proud  to  carry  God's  curse 
upon  your  head  ?  " 

"■  In  truth  you  are  old,  buona  madre,"  said  the  cherubic 
boy,  in  a  sweet  soprano.  "  You  look  very  ugly  with  the  red 
on  your  cheeks,  and  that  black  glistening  hair,  and  those  fine 
things.  It  is  only  Satan  who  can  like  to  see  you.  Your 
Angel  is  sorry.     He  wants  you  to  rub  away  the  red." 

The  little  fellow  snatched  a  soft  silk  scarf  from  the  bas- 
ket, and  held  it  towards  Monna  Brigida,  that  she  might  use 
it  as  her  guardian  angel  desired.  Her  anger  and  mortification 
were  fast  giving  way  to  spiritual  alarm.  Monna  Berta  and 
that  cloud  of  witnesses,  highly  dressed  society  in  general, 
were  not  looking  at  her,  and  she  was  surrounded  by  young 


MONNA   BRIGIDA'S   CONVERSION        201 

monitors^  whose  white  robes^  and  wreaths,  and  red  crosses, 
aud  dreadful  candour  had  something  awful  iu  their  unusual- 
ness.  Her  Franciscan  confessor,  Era  Cristoforo,  of  Sauta 
Croce,  was  not  at  hand  to  reinforce  her  distrust  of  Dominican 
teaching,  and  she  was  helplessly  possessed  and  sliaken  by  a 
vague  sense  tliat  a  supreme  warning  was  come  to  her.  Un- 
visited  by  the  least  suggestion  of  any  other  course  that  was 
open  to  her,  she  took  the  scarf  that  was  held  out,  and  rubbed 
her  clieeks,  with  trembling  submissiveness. 

"  It  is  well,  madonna/'  said  the  second  youth.  "  It  is  a 
holy  beginning.  And  when  yon  have  taken  those  vanities 
from  your  head,  the  dew  of  heavenly  grace  will  descend  on  it/' 
The  infusion  of  mischief  was  getting  stronger,  and  putting  his 
hand  to  one  of  the  jewelled  pins  that  fastened  her  braids  to 
the  berretta,  he  drew  it  out.  The  heavy  black  plait  fell  down 
over  Monna  Brigida's  face,  and  dragged  the  rest  of  the  head- 
gear forward.  It  was  a  new  reason  for  not  hesitating  :  she 
put  up  her  hands  hastily,  undid  the  other  ftistenings,  aud 
flung  down  into  the  basket  of  doom  her  beloved  crimson-velvet 
berretta,  with  all  its  unsurpassed  embroidery  of  seed-pearls, 
and  stood  an  unrouged  woman,  with  gray  hair  pushed  back- 
ward from  a  face  where  certain  deep  lines  of  age  had  triumphed 
over  embonpoint. 

But  the  berretta  was  not  allowed  to  lie  in  the  basket. 
With  impish  zeal  the  youngsters  lifted  it,  and  held  it  up 
pitilessly,  with  the  false  hair  dangling. 

"  See,  venerable  mother,"  said  the  taller  youth,  "  what 
ugly  lies  you  have  delivered  yourself  from  !  And  now  you 
look  like  the  blessed  Saint  Anna,  the  mother  of  the  Holy 
Yirgin." 

Thoughts  of  going  into  a  convent  forthwith,  and  never 
showing  herself  in  the  world  again,  were  rushing  through 
Monna  Brigida's  mind.     Tiiere  was  nothing  possij^b  ittJ>yher 


202  ROMOLA 

but  to  take  care  of  her  soul.  Of  course,  there  were  spectators 
laughing  :  she  had  no  need  to  look  round  to  assure  herself  of 
that.  Well !  it  would,  perhaps,  be  better  to  be  forced  to  think 
more  of  Paradise.  But  at  the  thought  that  the  dear  accus- 
tomed world  was  no  longer  in  her  choice,  there  gathered  some 
of  those  hard  tears  which  just  moisten  elderly  eyes,  and  she 
could  see  but  dimly  a  large  rough  hand  holding  a  red  cross, 
which  was  suddenly  thrust  before  her  over  the  shoulders  of 
the  boys,  while  a  strong  gutteral  voice  said,  — 

"  Only  four  quattrini,  madonna,  blessing  and  all !  Buy 
it.  You  '11  find  a  comfort  in  it  now  your  wig 's  gone.  Dch  ! 
what  are  we  sinners  doing  all  our  lives  ?  Making  soup  in  a 
basket,  and  getting  nothing  but  the  scum  for  our  stomachs. 
Better  buy  a  blessing,  madonna  !  Only  four  quattrini ;  the 
profit  is  not  so  much  as  the  smeU  of  a  danaro,  and  it  goes  to 
the  poor.'" 

Monna  Brigida,  in  dim-eyed  confusion,  was  proceeding 
to  the  further  submission  of  reaching  money  from  her  em- 
broidered scarsella,  at  present  hidden  by  her  silk  mantle,  when 
the  group  round  her,  which  she  had  not  yet  entertained  the 
idea  of  escaping,  opened  before  a  figure  as  Avelcome  as  an 
angel  loosing  prison-bolts. 

"  Romola,  look  at  me ! "  said  Monna  Brigida,  in  a 
piteous  tone,  putting  out  both  her  hands. 

The  white  troop  was  already  moving  away,  with  a  slight 
consciousness  that  its  zeal  about  the  head-gear  had  been 
superabundant  enough  to  afford  a  dispensation  from  any 
further  demand  for  penitential  offerings. 

"  Dear  cousin,  don^t  be  distressed,^^  said  Romola,  smitten 
with  pity,  yet  hardly  able  to  helj)  smiling  at  the  sudden  appa- 
rition of  her  kinswoman  in  a  genuine,  natural  guise,  strangely 
contrasted  with  all  memories  of  her.  She  took  the  black 
drapery   from    her    own    head,  and    threw   it   over    Monna 


MONNA   BRIGIDA^S   CONVERSION         203 

Brigida^s.  "  There/'  she  went  on  soothingly,  "  no  one  will 
remark  you  now.  We  will  turn  down  the  Yia  del  Palagio 
and  go  straight  to  our  house/' 

They  hastened  away,  Monna  Brigida  grasping  Romola's 
hand  tightly,  as  if  to  get  a  stronger  assurance  of  her  being 
actually  there. 

"Ah,  ray  Romola,  my  dear  child!''  said  the  short  fat 
woman,  hurrying  with  frequent  steps  to  keep  pace  with  the 
majestic  young  figure  beside  her ;  "  what  an  old  scarecrow  I 
am  !     I  must  be  good,  —  I  mean  to  be  good  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  buy  a  cross  !  "  said  the  gutteral  voice,  while 
the  rough  hand  was  thrust  once  more  before  Monna  Brigida : 
for  Bratti  was  not  to  be  abashed  by  Eomola's  presence  into 
renouncing  a  probable  customer,  and  had  quietly  followed  up 
their  retreat.  "  Only  four  quattrini,  blessing  and  all,  —  and 
if  there  was  any  profit,  it  would  all  go  to  the  poor." 

Monna  Brigida  would  have  been  compelled  to  pause, 
even  if  she  had  been  in  a  less  submissive  mood.  Slie  put  up 
one  hand  deprecatingly  to  arrest  Romola's  remonstrance,  and 
with  the  other  reached  out  a  grosso,  worth  many  white  quat- 
trini, saying,  in  an  entreating  tone,  — 

"  Take  it,  good  man,  and  begone." 

"  You  're  in  the  right,  madonna,"  said  Bratti,  taking 
the  coin  quickly,  and  thrusting  the  cross  into  her  hand  :  "  I  '11 
not  ofl'er  you  change,  for  I  might  as  well  rob  you  of  a  mass. 
What !  we  must  all  be  scorched  a  little,  but  you  will  come 
off  the  easier  :  better  fall  from  the  window  than  the  roof.  A 
good  Easter  and  a  good  year  to  you  !  " 

"  Well,  Eomola,"  cried  Monna  Brigida,  pathetically,  as 
Bratti  left  them,  "  if  I  'm  to  be  a  Piagnone,  it 's  no  matter 
how  I  look  !  " 

"  Dear  cousin,"  said  Eomola,  smiling  at  her  affection- 
ately, "  you  don't  know  how  much  better  you  look  than  you 


204  ROMOLA 

ever  did  before.  I  see  now  how  good-natured  your  face  is, 
like  yourself.  That  red  and  finery  seemed  to  thrust  them- 
selves forward  and  hide  expression.  Ask  our  Piero  or  any 
otlier  painter  if  he  would  not  rather  paint  your  portrait  now 
than  before.  I  think  all  lines  of  the  human  face  have 
something  either  touching  or  grand,  unless  they  seem  to 
come  from  low  passions.  How  fine  old  men  are,  like  uiy 
godfather !  Why  should  not  old  women  look  grand  and 
simple  ?  " 

"  Yes,  when  one  gets  to  be  sixty,  my  Romola,"  said 
Brigida,  relapsing  a  little ;  "  but  I  ^n  only  fifty-five,  and 
Monna  Berta,  and  everybody  —  But  it 's  no  use :  I  will 
be  good,  like  you.  Your  mother,  if  she'd  been  alive, 
would  have  been  as  old  as  I  am ;  we  were  cousins  together. 
One  must  either  die  or  get  old.  But  it  does  n't  matter 
about  being  old,  if  one's  a  Piagnone." 


I 


CHAPTER  XXXn 

A    PROPHETESS 

THE  incidents  of  that  Carnival  day  seemed  to  Romola 
to  carry  no  other  personal  consequences  to  her  than 
the  new  care  of  supporting  poor  Cousin  Brigida  in 
her  fluctuating  resignation  to  age  and  gray  hairs ;  but  they 
introduced  a  Lenten  time  in  which  she  was  kept  at  a  high 
pitch  of  mental  excitement  and  active  effort. 

Bernardo  del  Nero  had  been  elected  Gonfaloniere.  By 
great  exertions,  the  Medicean  party  had  so  far  triumphed,  and 
that  triumph  had  deepened  RomoWs  presentiment  of  some 
secretly  prepared  scheme  likely  to  ripen  either  into  success  or 
betrayal  during  these  two  months  of  her  godfather's  author- 
ity. Every  morning  the  dim  daybreak  as  it  peered  into  her 
room  seemed  to  be  that  haunting  fear  coming  back  to  her. 
Every  morning  the  fear  went  with  her  as  she  passed  through 
the  streets  on  her  way  to  the  early  sermon  in  the  Duomo; 
but  there  she  gradually  lost  the  sense  of  its  chill  presence,  as 
men  lose  the  dread  of  death  in  the  clash  of  battle. 

In  the  Duomo  she  felt  herself  sharing  in  a  passionate 
conflict  which  had  wider  relations  than  any  enclosed  within 
the  walls  of  Florence.  For  Savonarola  was  preaching, — 
preaching  the  last  course  of  Lenten  sermons  he  was  ever 
allowed  to  finish  in  the  Duomo  :  he  knew  that  excommuni- 
cation was  imminent,  and  he  had  reached  the  point  of  defy- 
ing it.  He  held  nj)  the  condition  of  the  Church  in  the 
terrible  mirror  of  his  unflinching  speech,  which  called  things 
by  their  right  names  and  dealt  in  no  polite  periphrases;  he 


206  ROMOLA 

proclaimed  with  heightening  confidence  the  advent  of  reno- 
vation, —  of  a  moment  when  there  would  be  a  general  revolt 
against  corruption.  As  to  his  own  destiny,  he  seemed  to 
have  a  double  and  alternating  prevision :  sometimes  he  saw 
himself  taking  a  glorious  part  in  that  revolt,  sending  forth  a 
voice  that  would  be  heard  through  all  Christendom,  and 
making  the  dead  body  of  the  Church  tremble  into  new  life, 
as  the  body  of  Lazarus  trembled  when  the  Divine  voice 
pierced  the  sepulchre;  sometimes  he  saw  no  prospect  for 
himself  but  persecution  and  martyrdom,  —  this  life  for  him 
was  only  a  vigil,  and  only  after  death  would  come  the 
dawn. 

The  position  was  one  which  must  have  had  its  impres- 
siveness  for  all  minds  that  were  not  of  the  dullest  order,  even 
if  they  were  inclined,  as  Macchiavelli  was,  to  interpret  the 
Frate's  character  by  a  key  that  presupposed  no  loftiness.  To 
Eomola,  whose  kindred  ardour  gave  her  a  firm  belief  in  Sa- 
vonarola^s  genuine  greatness  of  purpose,  the  crisis  was  as 
stirring  as  if  it  had  been  part  of  her  personal  lot.  It  blent 
itself  as  an  exalting  memory  with  all  her  daily  labours ;  and 
those  labours  were  caUing  not  only  for  difficult  perseverance, 
but  for  new  courage.  Famine  had  never  yet  taken  its  flight 
from  Florence,  and  all  distress,  by  its  long  continuance,  was 
getting  harder  to  bear ;  disease  was  spreading  in  the  crowded 
city,  and  the  Plague  was  expected.  As  Romola  walked, 
often  in  weariness,  among  the  sick,  the  huiigry,  and  the 
murmuring,  she  felt  it  good  to  be  inspired  by  something 
more  than  her  pity,  —  by  the  belief  in  a  heroism  struggHng 
for  sublime  ends,  towards  which  tlie  daily  action  of  her  pity 
*could  only  tend  feebly,  as  tlie  dews  that  freshen  the  weedy 
ground  to-day  tend  to  prepare  an  unseen  harvest  in  the  years 
to  come. 

But  that  mighty  music  which  stirred  her  in  the  Duomo 


A  PROPHETESS  207 

was  not  without  its  jarring  notes.  Since  those  first  days  of 
glowing  hope  when  the  Frate,  seeing  the  near  triumph  of 
good  in  the  reform  of  the  Eepubhc  and  the  coming  of  the 
French  deliverer,  had  preached  peace,  charity,  and  oblivion  of 
political  differences,  there  had  been  a  marked  change  of  con- 
ditions :  political  intrigue  had  been  too  obstinate  to  allow  of 
the  desired  oblivion ;  the  belief  in  the  French  deliverer,  who 
had  turned  his  back  on  his  high  mission,  seemed  to  have 
wrought  harm ;  and  hostility,  both  on  a  petty  and  on  a  grand 
scale,  was  attacking  the  Prophet  with  new  weapons  and  new 
determination. 

It  followed  that  the  spirit  of  contention  and  self-vindica- 
tion pierced  more  and  more  conspicuously  in  his  sermons ; 
that  he  was  urged  to  meet  the  popular  demands  not  only  by 
increased  insistence  and  detail  concerning  visions  and  private 
revelations,  but  by  a  tone  of  defiant  confidence  against  objec- 
tors ;  and  from  having  denounced  the  desire  for  the  miracu- 
lous, and  declared  that  miracles  had  no  relation  to  true  faith, 
he  had  come  to  assert  that  at  the  right  moment  the  Divine 
power  would  attest  the  truth  of  his  prophetic  preaching  by  a 
miracle.  And  continually,  in  the  rapid  transitions  of  excited 
feeling,  as  the  vision  of  triumphant  good  receded  behind  the 
actual  predominance  of  evil,  the  threats  of  coming  vengeance 
against  vicious  tyrants  and  corrupt  priests  gathered  some 
impetus  from  personal  exasperation  as  well  as  from  indignant 
zeal. 

In  the  career  of  a  great  public  orator  who  yields  himself 
to  the  inspiration  of  the  moniout,  that  conflict  of  selfish  and 
unselfish  emotion  which  in  most  men  is  hidden  in  the  chamber 
of  the  soul,  is  brought  into  terrible  evidence  :  the  language  of 
the  inner  voices  is  written  out  in  letters  of  fire. 

But  if  tlie  tones  of  exasperation  jarred  on  Romola,  there 
was   often  another  member   of  Fra  Girolamo^s  audience  to 


208  ROMOLA 

whom  they  were  the  only  thrilling  tones,  like  the  vibration  of 
deep  bass  notes  to  the  deaf.  Baldassarre  had  found  out  that 
the  wonderful  Frate  was  preaching  again,  and  as  often  as  he 
could,  he  went  to  hear  the  Lenten  sermon,  that  he  might  drink 
in  the  threats  of  a  voice  which  seemed  like  a  power  on  the  side 
of  justice.  He  went  the  more  because  he  had  seen  that  E,om- 
ola  went  too ;  for  he  was  waiting  and  watching  for  a  time  when 
not  only  outward  circumstances,  but  his  own  varying  mental 
state,  would  mark  the  right  moment  for  seeking  an  interview 
with  her.  Twice  Romola  had  caught  sight  of  his  face  in  the 
Duomo,  —  once  when  its  dark  glance  was  fixed  on  hers.  She 
wished  not  to  see  it  again,  and  yet  she  looked  for  it,  as  men 
look  for  the  reappearance  of  a  portent.  But  any  revelation 
that  might  be  yet  to  come  about  this  old  man  was  a  subordi- 
nate fear  now :  it  referred,  she  thought,  only  to  the  past,  and 
her  anxiety  was  almost  absorbed  by  the  present. 

Yet  the  stirring  Lent  passed  by ;  April,  the  second  and 
final  month  of  her  godfather^s  supreme  authority,  was  near  its 
close;  and  nothing  had  occurred  to  fulfil  her  presentiment. 
Li  the  public  mind,  too,  there  had  been  fears,  and  rumours 
had  spread  from  Rome  of  a  menachig  activity  on  the  part  of 
Piero  de'  Medici,  but  in  a  few  days  the  suspected  Bernardo 
would  go  out  of  power. 

Romola  was  trying  to  gather  some  courage  from  the 
review  of  her  futile  fears,  when  on  the  27th,  as  she  was 
walking  out  on  her  usual  errands  of  mercy  in  the  afternoon, 
she  was  met  by  a  messenger  from  Camilla  Rucellai,  chief 
among  the  feminine  seers  of  Florence,  desiring  her  presence 
forthwith  on  matters  of  the  highest  moment.  Romola,  who 
shrank  with  unconquerable  repulsion  from  the  shrill  volubility 
of  those  illuminated  women,  and  had  just  now  a  special  re- 
pugnance towards  Camilla  because  of  a  report  that  she  had 
announced  revelations  hostile  to  Bernardo  del  Nero,  was  at 


A  PROPHETESS  209 

first  inclined  to  send  back  a  flat  refusal.  Camilla's  message 
might  refer  to  public  affairs,  and  Romola's  immediate  prompt- 
ing was  to  close  her  ears  against  knowledge  that  might  only 
make  her  mental  burden  heavier.  But  it  had  become  so 
thoroughly  her  habit  to  reject  her  impulsive  choice,  and  to 
obey  passively  the  guidance  of  outward  claims,  that,  reprov- 
ing herself  for  allowing  her  presentiments  to  make  her  cow- 
ardly and  selfish,  she  ended  by  compliance,  and  went  straight 
to  Camilla. 

She  found  the  nervous  gray-haired  woman  in  a  chamber 
arranged  as  much  as  possible  like  a  convent  cell.  The  thin 
fingers  clutching  Romola  as  she  sat,  and  the  eager  voice  ad- 
dressing her  at  first  in  a  loud  whisper,  caused  her  a  physical 
shrinking  that  made  it  difficult  for  her  to  keep  her  seat. 

Camilla  had  a  vision  to  communicate,  —  a  vision  in 
which  it  had  been  revealed  to  her  by  Romola's  Angel,  that 
Romola  knew  certain  secrets  concerning  her  godfather,  Ber- 
nardo del  Nero,  which,  if  disclosed,  might  save  the  Republic 
from  peril.  Camilla's  voice  rose  louder  and  higher  as  she 
narrated  her  vision,  and  ended  by  exhorting  Romola  to  obey 
the  command  of  her  Angel,  and  separate  herself  from  the 
enemy  of  God. 

Romola's  impetuosity  was  that  of  a  massive  nature,  and, 
except  in  moments  when  she  was  deeply  stirred,  her  manner 
was  calm  and  self-controlled.  She  had  a  constitutional  dis- 
gust for  the  shallow  excitability  of  women  like  Camilla, 
whose  faculties  seemed  all  wrought  up  into  fantasies,  leaving 
nothing  for  emotion  and  thought.  The  exhortation  was  not 
yet  ended  when  she  started  up  and  attempted  to  wrench  her 
arm  from  Camilla's  tightening  grasp.  It  was  of  no  use. 
The  prophetess  kept  her  hold  like  a  crab,  and,  only  incited 
to  more  eager  exhortation  by  Romola's  resistance,  was  carried 
beyond  her  own  intention  into   a  shrill  statement  of   other 

VOL.    II.  — 14 


210  ROMOLA 

visions  which  were  to  corroborate  this.  Christ  himself  had 
appeared  to  her  and  ordered  her  to  send  his  commands  to 
certain  citizens  in  office  that  they  should  throw  Beniardo  del 
Nero  from  the  window  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio.  Pra  Giro- 
lamo  himself  knew  of  it,  and  had  not  dared  this  time  to  say 
that  the  vision  was  not  of  Divine  authority. 

"  And  since  then/^  said  Camilla,  in  her  excited  treble, 
straining  upward  with  wild  eyes  towards  Eomola's  face,  "  the 
Blessed  Infant  has  come  to  me  and  laid  a  wafer  of  sweetness 
on  my  tongue  in  token  of  his  pleasure  that  I  had  done  his 
will.^^ 

''  Let  me  go ! "  said  Eomola,  in  a  deep  voice  of  anger. 
"  God  grant  you  are  mad  !  else  you  are  detestably  wicked  !  " 

The  violence  of  her  effort  to  be  free  was  too  strong  for 
Camilla  nov/.  She  wrenched  away  her  arm  and  rushed  out 
of  the  room,  not  pausing  till  she  had  hurriedly  gone  far 
along  the  street,  and  found  herself  close  to  the  church  of  the 
Badia.  She  had  but  to  pass  behind  the  curtain  under  the 
old  stone  arch,  and  she  would  find  a  sanctuary  shut  in  from 
the  noise  and  hurry  of  the  street,  where  all  objects  and  all 
uses  suggested  the  thought  of  an  eternal  peace  subsisting  in 
the  midst  of  turmoil. 

She  turned  in,  and  sinking  down  on  the  step  of  the  altar 
in  front  of  Filippino  Lippi^s  serene  Virgin  appearing  to  Saint 
Bernard,^  she  waited  in  hope  that  the  inward  tumult  which 
agitated  her  would  by  and  by  subside. 

The  thought  which  pressed  on  her  the  most  acutely  was 

^  The  picture  by  Filippino  Lippi,  representing  the  appearance  of  the 
Virgin  surrounded  by  angels  to  San  Beniard  as  he  sits  writing  in  a  wood,  was 
at  that  time  in  the  Chapel  belonging  to  Francesco  del  Pugliese  at  le  Campora, 
a  convent  of  the  Badia  monks  outside  the  city.  It  remained  there  until  the 
Seige  of  1529,  when  it  was  removed  for  safety  to  the  sacristy  of  the  Badia. 
Francesco  del  Pugliese  paid  Filippino  Lippi  250  ducats  for  the  picture. 
— Editok. 


A   PROPHETESS  211 

that  Camilla  could  allege  Savonarola's  countenance  of  her 
wicked  folly.  Eomola  did  not  for  a  moment  believe  that  he 
had  sanctioned  the  throwing  of  Bernardo  del  Nero  from  the 
window  as  a  Divine  suggestion ;  she  felt  certain  that  there 
was  falsehood  or  mistake  in  that  allegation.  Savonarola  had 
become  more  and  more  severe  in  his  views  of  resistance  to 
malcontents ;  but  the  ideas  of  strict  law  and  order  were  fun- 
damental to  all  his  political  teaching.  Still,  since  he  knew 
the  possibly  fatal  effects  of  visions  like  Camilla's,  since  he 
had  a  marked  distrust  of  sucb  spirit-seeing  women,  and  kept 
aloof  from  them  as  much  as  possible,  why,  with  his  readi- 
ness to  denounce  wrong  from  the  pulpit,  did  he  not  publicly 
denounce  these  pretended  revelations  which  brought  new 
darkness  instead  of  light  across  the  conception  of  a  Supreme 
Will  ?  Why  ?  The  answer  came  with  painful  clearness : 
he  was  fettered  inwardly  by  the  consciousness  that  such  reve- 
lations were  not,  in  their  basis,  distinctly  separable  from  his 
own  visions ;  he  was  fettered  outwardly  by  the  foreseen  con- 
sequence of  raising  a  cry  against  himself  even  among  members 
of  his  own  party,  as  one  who  would  suppress  all  Divine  inspi- 
ration of  which  he  himself  was  not  the  vehicle,  —  he  or  his 
confidential  and  supplementary  seer  of  visions,  Fra  Salvestro. 
Ilomola,  kneeling  with  buried  face  on  the  altar-step, 
was  enduring  one  of  those  sickening  moments,  when  the  en- 
thusiasm which  had  come  to  her  as  the  only  energy  strong 
enough  to  make  life  worthy,  seemed  to  be  inevitably  bound 
up  with  vain  dreams  and  wilful  eye-shutting.  Her  mind 
rushed  back  with  a  new  attraction  towards  the  strong  worldly 
sense,  the  dignified  prudence,  the  untheoretic  virtues  of  her 
godfatlier,  who  was  to  be  treated  as  a  sort  of  Agag  because 
he  held  that  a  more  restricted  form  of  government  was  better 
than  the  Great  Council,  and  because  he  would  not  pretend  to 
forget  old  ties  to  the  banished  family. 


212  ROMOLA 

But  with  this  hist  thought  rose  tlie  presentiment  of  some 
plot  to  restore  the  Medici ;  and  then  again  she  felt  that  the 
popular  party  was  half  justified  in  its  fierce  suspicion.  Again 
she  felt  that  to  keep  the  Government  of  Florence  pure,  and 
to  keep  out  a  vicious  rule,  was  a  sacred  cause;  the  Frate 
was  right  there,  and  had  carried  her  understanding  irrevocably 
with  him.  But  at  this  moment  the  assent  of  her  understand- 
ing went  alone ;  it  was  given  unwillingly.  Her  heart  was 
recoiling  from  a  right  allied  to  so  much  narrowness ;  a  right 
apparently  entailing  that  hard  systematic  judgment  of  men 
which  measures  them  by  assents  and  denials  quite  superficial 
to  the  manhood  within  them.  Her  affection  and  respect 
were  clinging  with  new  tenacity  to  her  godfather,  and  with 
him  to  those  memories  of  her  father  which  were  in  the  same 
opposition  to  the  division  of  men  into  sheep  and  goats  by  the 
easy  mark  of  some  political  or  religious  symbol. 

After  all  has  been  said  that  can  be  said  about  the  widen- 
ing influence  of  ideas,  it  remains  true  that  they  would  hardly 
be  such  strong  agents  unless  they  were  taken  in  a  solvent  of 
feeling.  The  great  world-struggle  of  developing  thought  is 
continually  foreshadowed  in  the  struggle  of  the  affections, 
seeking  a  justification  for  love  and  hope. 

If  E-omola's  intellect  had  been  less  capable  of  discerning 
the  complexities  in  human  things,  all  the  early  loving  associa- 
tions of  her  life  would  have  forbidden  her  to  accept  implicitly 
the  denunciatory  exclusiveness  of  Savonarola.  She  had  simply 
felt  that  his  mind  had  suggested  deeper  and  more  efficacious 
truth  to  her  than  any  other,  and  the  large  breathing-room  she 
found  in  his  grand  view  of  human  duties  had  made  her  patient 
towards  that  part  of  his  teaching  which  she  could  not  absorb, 
so  long  as  its  practical  effect  came  into  collision  with  no  strong 
force  in  her.  But  now  a  sudden  insurrection  of  feeling  had 
brought  about  that  collision.     Her  indignation,  once  roused 


The  Church  of  Santo  Stefano  del  Poiite 


b». 


A   PROPHETESS  213 

by  Camilla^s  visions^  could  not  pause  there,  but  ran  like  an 
illuminating  fire  over  all  the  kindred  facts  in  Savonarola's 
teaching,  and  for  the  moment  she  felt  what  was  true  in  the 
scornful  sarcasms  she  heard  continually  flung  against  him, 
more  keenly  than  she  felt  what  was  false. 

But  it  was  an  illumination  that  made  all  life  look  ghastly 
to  her.  Where  were  the  beings  to  whom  she  could  cling, 
with  whom  she  could  work  and  endure,  with  the  belief  that 
she  was  working  for  the  right  ?  On  the  side  from  which 
moral  energy  came,  lay  a  fanaticism  from  which  she  was 
shrinking  with  newly  startled  repulsion ;  on  the  side  to  which 
she  was  drawn  by  affection  and  memory,  there  was  the  pre- 
sentiment of  some  secret  plotting,  which  her  judgment  told 
her  would  not  be  unfairly  called  crime.  And  still  surmount- 
ing every  other  thought  was  the  dread  inspired  by  Tito's 
hints,  lest  that  presentiment  should  be  converted  into  knowl- 
edge, in  such  a  way  that  she  would  be  torn  by  irreconcilable 
claims. 

Calmness  would  not  come  even  on  the  altar-steps;  it 
would  not  come  from  looking  at  the  serene  picture  where  the 
saint,  writing  iu  the  rocky  solitude,  was  being  visited  by  faces 
with  celestial  peace  in  them.  Eomola  was  in  the  hard  press 
of  human  difficulties,  and  that  rocky  solitude  was  too  far  off. 
She  rose  from  her  knees  that  she  might  hasten  to  her  sick 
people  in  the  courtyard,  and  by  some  immediate  beneficent 
action  revive  that  sense  of  worth  in  life  which  at  this  moment 
was  unfed  by  any  wider  faith.  But  when  she  turned  round, 
she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  man  who  was  standing 
only  two  yards  off  her.     The  man  was  Baldassarre. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

ON    SAN    MINIATO 

"  "W   "WOULD  speak  with  you/'  said  Baldassarre,  as  Romola 
I     looked  at  liim  in  silent  expectation.     It  was  plain  that 
he  had  followed  her,  and  had  been  waiting  for  her. 
She  was  going  at  last  to  know  the  secret  about  him. 

"Yes/'  she  said^  with  the  same  sort  of  submission  that 
she  might  have  shown  under  an  imposed  penance.  "  But  you 
wish  to  go  where  no  one  can  hear  us  ?  " 

"  Where  ke  will  not  come  upon  us/'  said  Baldassarre, 
turning  and  glancing  behind  him  timidly.  "  Out  —  in  the 
aifj  —  away  from  the  streets." 

"  I  sometimes  go  to  San  Miniato  at  this  hour/'  said 
Romola.  "If  you  like^  I  will  go  now^  and  you  can  follow 
me.     It  is  far,  but  we  can  be  solitary  there." 

He  nodded  assent,  and  Romola  set  out.  To  some  women 
it  might  have  seemed  an  alarming  risk  to  go  to  a  compara- 
tively solitary  spot  with  a  man  who  had  some  of  the  outward 
signs  of  that  madness  which  Tito  attributed  to  him.  But 
Romola  was  not  given  to  personal  fears,  and  she  was  glad  of 
the  distance  that  interposed  some  delay  before  another  blow 
fell  on  her.  The  afternoon  was  far  advanced,  and  the  sun 
was  already  low  in  the  west,  when  she  paused  on  some  rough 
ground  in  the  shadow  of  the  cypress-trunks,  and  looked 
round  for  Baldassarre.  He  was  not  far  off,  but  when  he 
reached  her,  he  was  glad  to  sink  down  on  an  edge  of  stony 
earth.  His  thick-set  frame  had  no  longer  the  sturdy  vigour 
which  belonged  to  it  when  he  first  appeared  with  the  rope 


ON   SAN   MINIATO  215 

round  him  in  the  Duomo  ;  and  under  the  transient  tremor 
caused  by  the  exertion  of  walking  up  the  hill,  his  eyes  seemed 
to  have  a  more  helpless  vagueness. 

"  The  hill  is  steep/''  said  Romola,  with  compassionate 
gentleness,  seating  herself  by  him.  "  And  I  fear  you  have 
been  weakened  by  want  ?  " 

He  turned  his  head  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  in  silence, 
unable,  now  the  moment  of  speech  was  come,  to  seize  the 
words  that  would  convey  the  thought  he  wanted  to  utter ;  and 
she  remained  as  motionless  as  she  could,  lest  he  should  sup- 
pose her  impatient.  He  looked  like  nothing  higher  than  a 
common-bred,  neglected  old  man ;  but  she  was  used  now  to 
be  very  near  to  such  people,  and  to  think  a  great  deal  about 
their  troubles.  Gradually  his  glance  gathered  a  more  definite 
expression,  and  at  last  he  said  with  abrupt  emphasis,  — 

"  Ah  !  you  would  have  been  my  daughter  !  " 

The  swift  flush  came  in  Eomola's  face  and  went  back 
again  as  swiftly,  leaving  her  with  white  lips  a  little  apart,  like 
a  marble  image  of  horror.  For  her  mind,  the  revelation  was 
made.  She  divined  the  facts  that  lay  behind  that  single  word, 
and  in  the  first  moment  there  could  be  no  check  to  the  impul- 
sive belief  which  sprang  from  her  keen  experience  of  Tito's 
nature.  The  sensitive  response  of  her  face  was  a  stimulus  to 
Baldassarre ;  for  the  first  time  his  words  had  wrought  their 
right  efi'ect.  He  went  on  with  gathering  eagerness  and 
firmness,  laying  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  You  are  a  woman  of  proud  blood,  —  is  it  not  true  ? 
You  go  to  hear  the  preacher ;  you  hate  baseness,  —  baseness 
that  smiles  and  triumphs.     You  hate  your  husband  ?  " 

"  Oh,  God  !  were  you  really  his  father  ?  "  said  Romola, 
in  a  low  voice,  too  entirely  possessed  by  the  images  of  the 
past  to  take  any  note  of  Baldassarre's  question.  "  Or  was  it 
as  he  said  ?     Did  you  take  him  when  he  was  little  ?  " 


216  ROMOLA 

"  Ah,  you  believe  me,  —  you  know  what  he  is  !  "  said 
Baldassarre,  exultingly^  tighteniug  the  pressure  ou  her  arm,  as 
if  the  contact  gave  him  power.     "  You  will  help  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,^^  said  Romola,  not  interpreting  the  words  as  he 
meant  them.  She  laid  her  palm  gently  on  the  rough  hand 
tliat  grasped  her  arm,  and  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes  as  she 
looked  at  him.  "Oh,  it  is  piteous!  Tell  me,  —  you  were 
a  great  scholar ;  you  taught  him.     How  is  it  ? " 

She  broke  off,  Tito^s  allegation  of  this  man^s  madness 
had  come  across  her;  and  where  were  the  signs  even  of  past 
refinement  ?  But  she  had  the  self-command  not  to  move  her 
hand.  She  sat  perfectly  still,  waiting  to  listen  with  new 
caution. 

"  It  is  gone  !  —  it  is  all  gone  !  "  said  Baldassarre^  "  and 
they  would  not  believe  me,  because  he  lied,  and  said  I  was 
mad ;  and  they  had  me  dragged  to  prison.  And  I  am  old,  — 
my  mind  will  ]iot  come  back.  And  the  world  is  against 
me." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  his  eyes  sank  as  if  he  were 
under  a  wave  of  despondency.  Then  he  looked  up  at  her 
again,  and  said  with  renewed  eagerness,  — 

"  But  1/ou  are  not  against  me.  He  made  you  love  him, 
and  he  has  been  false  to  you ;  and  you  hate  him.  Yes,  he 
made'M^?  love  him  :  he  was  beautiful  and  gentle,  and  I  wns  a 
lonely  man.  I  took  him  when  they  were  beating  him.  He 
slept  in  my  bosom  when  he  was  little,  and  I  watched  him  as 
he  grew,  and  gave  him  all  my  knowledge,  and  everything  that 
was  mine  I  meant  to  be  his.  I  had  many  things,  —  money 
and  books  and  gems.  He  had  my  gems,  —  he  sold  tliem; 
and  he  left  me  in  slavery.  He  never  came  to  seek  me ;  and 
when  I  came  back  poor  and  in  misery,  he  denied  me.  He 
said  I  was  a  madman." 

"He  told  us  his  father  was  dead,  —  was  drowned,"  said 


ON  SAN  MINIATO  217 

Romola,  faintly.  "  Surely  he  must  have  believed  it  then. 
Oh  !  he  could  not  have  been  so  base  then  !  " 

A  vision  had  risen  of  what  Tito  was  to  her  in  those  first 
days  when  she  thought  no  more  of  wrong  in  him  than  a  child 
thinks  of  poison  in  flowers.  The  yearning  regret  that  lay  in 
that  memory  brought  some  relief  from  the  tension  of  horror. 
"With  one  great  sob  the  tears  rushed  forth. 

"  Ah,  you  are  young,  and  the  tears  come  easily,"  said 
Baldassarre,  with  some  impatience.  "But  tears  are  no  good ; 
they  only  put  out  the  fire  within,  and  it  is  the  fire  that  works. 
Tears  will  hinder  us.     Listen  to  me." 

Eomola  turned  towards  him  with  a  slight  start.  Again 
the  possibility  of  his  madness  had  darted  through  her  mind, 
and  checked  the  rush  of  belief.  If,  after  all,  this  man  were 
only  a  mad  assassin  ?  But  her  deep  belief  in  this  story  still 
lay  behind,  and  it  was  more  in  sympathy  than  in  fear  that  she 
avoided  the  risk  of  paining  him  by  any  show  of  doubt. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  as  gently  as  she  could,  "  how  did 
you  lose  your  memory,  —  your  scholarship  ?  " 

"  I  was  ill,  I  can't  tell  how  long,  —  it  was  a  blank.  I 
remember  nothing,  only  at  last  I  was  sitting  in  the  sun  among 
the  stones,  and  everything  else  was  darkness.  iVnd  slowly, 
and  by  degrees,  I  felt  something  besides  that :  a  longing  for 
something,  —  I  did  not  know  what,  —  that  never  came. 
And  when  I  was  in  the  ship  on  the  waters  I  began  to  know 
what  I  longed  for ;  it  was  for  the  Boy  to  come  back,  —  it 
■was  to  find  all  my  thoughts  again,  for  I  was  locked  away 
outside  them  all.  And  I  am  outside  now.  I  feel  nothing 
but  a  wall  and  darkness." 

Baldassarre  had  become  dreamy  again,  and  sank  into 
silence,  resting  his  head  between  his  hands  :  and  again  Roni- 
ola's  belief  in  him  had  submerged  all  cautioning  doubts. 
The  pity  with  which  she  dwelt  on  his  words  seemed  like  the 


218  ROMOLA 

revival  of  an  old  pang.  Plad  she  not  daily  seen  how  her 
father  missed  Dino  and  the  future  he  had  dreamed  of  in  that 
son? 

"It  all  came  back  once/'  Baldassarre  went  on  presently. 
"  I  was  master  of  everything.  I  saw  all  the  world  again,  and 
my  gems,  and  my  books;  and  I  thought  I  had  him  in  my 
power,  and  I  went  to  expose  him  where  —  where  the  lights 
were  and  the  trees ;  and  he  lied  again,  and  said  I  was  mad, 
and  they  dragged  me  away  to  prison.  .  .  .  Wickedness  is 
strong;  and  he  wears  armour." 

Tlie  fierceness  had  flamed  up  again.  He  spoke  with  his 
former  intensity,  and  again  he  grasped  Romola's  arm. 

"  But  you  will  help  me  ?  He  has  been  false  to  you  too. 
He  has  another  wife,  and  she  has  children.  He  makes  her 
believe  he  is  her  husband,  and  she  is  a  foolish,  helpless  thing. 
I  will  show  you  where  she  lives." 

The  first  shock  that  passed  through  Romola  was  visibly 
one  of  anger.  The  woman's  sense  of  indignity  was  inevitably 
foremost.  Baldassarre  instinctively  felt  her  in  sympathy  with 
him. 

"  You  hate  him,"  he  went  on.  "  Is  it  not  true  ?  There 
is  no  love  between  you ;  I  know  that.  I  know  women  can 
hate ;  and  you  have  proud  blood.  You  hate  falseness,  and 
you  can  love  revenge." 

Eomola  sat  paralyzed  by  the  shock  of  conflicting  feelings. 
She  was  not  conscious  of  the  grasp  that  was  bruising  her 
tender  arm. 

"You  shall  contrive  it,"  said  Baldassarre,  presently,  in 
an  eager  whisper.  "  I  have  learned  by  heart  that  you  are  his 
rightful  wife.  You  are  a  noble  woman.  You  go  to  hear  the 
preacher  of  vengeance  ;  you  will  help  justice.  But  you  will 
think  for  me.  My  mind  goes  —  everything  goes  sometimes 
—  all  but  the  fire.     The  fire  is  God  :  it  is  justice;  it  will  not 


A  Benedictine  monk 


lloihichiis    L/inicihiinus 


ON   SAN   MINIATO  219 

die.     You  believe  that,  —  is  it  not  true  ?     If  they  "will  not 
hang  him  for  robbing  me,  you  will  take  away  his  armour, 

—  you  will  make  him  go  without  it,  and  I  will  stab  him.     I 
have  a  knife,  and  my  arm  is  still  strong  enough,'^ 

He  put  his  hand  under  his  tunic,  and  reached  out  the 
hidden  knife,  feeling  the  edge  abstractedly,  as  if  he  needed  the 
sensation  to  keep  alive  his  ideas. 

It  seemed  to  Romola  as  if  every  fresh  hour  of  her  life 
were  to  become  more  difficult  than  the  last.  Her  judgment 
was  too  vigorous  and  rapid  for  her  to  fall  into  the  mistake  of 
using  futile  deprecatory  words  to  a  man  in  Baldassarre's  state 
of  mind.  She  chose  not  to  answer  his  last  speech.  She 
would  win  time  for  his  excitement  to  allay  itself  by  asking 
something  else  that  she  cared  to  know.  She  spoke  rather 
tremulously,  — 

"  You  say  she  is  foolish  and  helpless,  —  that  other  wife, 

—  and  believes  him  to  be  her  real  husband.     Perhaps  he 
is :  perhaps  he  married  her  before  he  married  me.^^ 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Baldassarre,  pausing  in  that  action 
of  feeling  the  knife,  and  looking  bewildered.  "  I  can  remem- 
ber Jio  more.  I  only  know  where  she  lives.  You  shall  see 
her.  I  wiU  take  you;  but  not  now,"  he  added  hurriedly, 
"  he  may  be  there.     The  night  is  coming  on." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Romola,  starting  up  with  a  sudden 
consciousness  that  the  sun  had  set  and  the  hills  were  darken- 
ing ;  "  but  you  will  come  and  take  me  —  when  ?  " 

"  In  the  morning,"  said  Baldassarre,  dreaming  that  she, 
too,  wanted  to  hurry  to  her  vengeance. 

"Come  to  me,  then,  where  you  came  to  me  to-day,  in 
the  church.  I  will  be  there  at  ten ;  and  if  you  are  not  there, 
I  wiU  go  again  towards  mid-day.     Can  you  remember?" 

"Mid-day,"  said  Baldassarre,  —  "only  mid-day.  The 
same  place,  and  mid-day.     And,  after  that,"  he  added,  rising 


220  ROMOLA 

and  grasping  her  arm  again  with  his  left  hand,  while  he 
held  the  knife  in  his  right,  "  we  will  have  our  revenge.  lie 
shall  feel  the  sharp  edge  of  justice.  The  world  is  against 
me,  but  jou  will  help  me." 

"  I  would  help  you  in  other  ways/'  said  Romola,  mak- 
ing a  first,  timid  effort  to  dispel  his  illusion  about  her.  "  I 
fear  you  are  in  want ;  you  have  to  labour,  and  get  little.  I 
should  like  to  bring  you  comforts,  and  make  you  feel  again 
that  there  is  some  one  who  cares  for  you.'' 

"  Talk  no  more  about  that,"  said  Baldassarre,  fiercely. 
"  I  will  have  nothing  else.  Help  me  to  wring  one  drop  of 
vengeance  on  this  side  of  the  grave.  I  have  nothing  but  my 
knife.  It  is  sharp ;  but  there  is  a  moment  after  the  thrust 
when  men  see  the  face  of  death,  —  and  it  shall  be  my  face 
that  he  will  see." 

He  loosed  his  hold,  and  sank  down  again  in  a  sitting 
posture.  Eomola  felt  helpless :  she  must  defer  all  inten- 
tions till  the  morrow. 

"  Mid-day,  then,"  she  said,  in  a  distinct  voice. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  an  air  of  exhaustion.  "  Go ; 
I  will  rest  here." 

She  hastened  away.  Turning  at  the  last  spot  whence  he 
was  likely  to  be  in  sight,  she  saw  him  seated  still. 


CHAPTER  XXXIT 

THE  EVENING  AND  THE  MORNING 

ROMOLA  had  a  purpose  in  her  mind  as  she  was  hasten- 
ing away,  —  a  purpose  which  had  been  growing 
through  the  afternoon  hours  like  a  side-stream,  ris- 
ing higher  and  higher  along  with  the  main  current.  It  was 
less  a  resolve  than  a  necessity  of  her  feeling.  Heedless  of  the 
darkening  streets,  and  not  caring  to  call  for  Masons  slow 
escort,  she  hurried  across  the  bridge  where  the  river  showed 
itself  black  before  the  distant  dying  red,  and  took  the  most 
direct  way  to  the  Old  Palace.^  She  might  encounter  her 
husband  there.  No  matter.  She  could  not  weigh  proba- 
bilities; she  must  discharge  her  heart.  She  did  not  know 
what  she  passed  in  the  pillared  court  or  up  the  wide  stairs ; 
she  only  knew  that  she  asked  an  usher  for  the  Gonfaloniere, 
giving  her  name,  and  begging  to  be  shown  into  a  private 
room. 

She  was  not  left  long  alone  with  the  frescoed  figures  and 
the  newly  lit  tapers.  Soon  the  door  opened,  and  Bernardo 
del  Nero  entered,  still  carrying  his  white  head  erect  above  his 
silk  lucco. 

1  The  Palazzo  del  Popolo,  dci  Signori,  or  della  Signoria  (not  to  be  con- 
fused  with  the  Palagio  del  Comune,  which  corresponded  to  the  Falagio  del 
Podesta,  or  Bargello)  could  not,  at  the  cud  of  the  fifteenth  century,  yet  be 
called  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  or  the  Old  Palace,  because  at  that  time  there  was  no 
other  for  which  it  could  be  mistaken.  It  was  only  called  Palazzo  Vecchio  when 
Cosimo  I,  in  1550,  established  the  Grand  Ducal  residence  in  the  palace  he  had 
bought  from  the  Pitti  family  and  had  had  embellished  by  Bartolommeo  Am- 
mannati.  —  Editor. 


222  ROMOLA 

"  Romola,  my  cliild^  what  is  tins?"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
of  anxious  surprise  as  he  closed  the  door. 

She  had  uncovered  her  head,  and  went  towards  him 
without  speaking.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
held  her  a  little  way  from  him  that  he  might  see  her  better. 
Her  face  w^as  haggard  from  fatigue  and  long  agitation, 
her  hair  had  rolled  down  in  disorder;  but  there  was  an 
excitement  in  her  eyes  that  seemed  to  have  triumphed 
over  the  bodily  consciousness. 

"What  has  he  done?"  said  Bernardo,  abruptly. 
"Tell  mc  everything,  child;  throw  away  pride.  I  am  your 
father." 

"  It  is  not  about  myself,  —  nothing  about  myself,"  said 
Eomola,  hastily.  "Dearest  godfather,  it  is  about  you.  I 
have  heard  things,  —  some  I  cannot  tell  you.  But  you  are 
in  danger  in  the  palace ;  you  are  in  danger  everywhere. 
There  are  fanatical  men  who  would  harm  you,  and  —  and 
there  are  traitors.  Trust  nobody.  If  you  trust,  you  will  be 
betrayed." 

Bernardo  smiled. 

"  Have  you  worked  yourself  up  into  this  agitation,  my 
poor  child,"  he  said,  raising  his  hand  to  her  head  and  patting 
it  gently,  "  to  tell  such  old  truth  as  that  to  an  old  man 
like  me?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  they  are  not  old  truths  that  I  mean,'^ 
said  E/omola,  pressing  her  clasped  hands  painfully  together, 
as  if  that  action  would  help  her  to  suppress  what  must  not 
be  told.  "  They  are  fresh  things  that  I  know,  but  cannot 
tell.  Dearest  godfather,  you  know  I  am  not  foolish.  I 
would  not  come  to  you  without  reason.  Is  it  too  late  to 
warn  you  against  any  one,  every  one  who  seems  to  be  work- 
ing on  your  side  ?  Is  it  too  late  to  say,  '  Go  to  your  villa 
and  keep  away  in  the  country  when  these  three  more  days  of 


THE   EVENING   AND   THE   MORNING     223 

office  are  ovcr^?  Oh,  God!  perhaps  it  is  too  late!  and 
if  any  harm  comes  to  you,  it  will  be  as  if  I  had  doue  it !  " 

The  last  words  had  burst  from  Romola  involuntarily  : 
a  long-stifled  feeling  had  found  spasmodic  utterance.  But 
she  herself  was  startled  and  arrested. 

"I  mesLu/'  she  added  hesitatingly,  "I  know  nothing 
positive.     I  only  know  what  fills  me  with  fears.''' 

"  Poor  child !  "  said  Bernardo,  looking  at  her  with  quiet 
penetration  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then  he  said  :  "  Go,  Eom- 
ola,  —  go  home  and  rest.  These  fears  may  be  only  big 
ugly  shadows  of  something  very  little  and  harmless.  Even 
traitors  must  see  their  interest  in  betraying;  the  rats  will  run 
where  they  smell  the  cheese,  and  there  is  no  knowing  yet 
which  way  the  scent  will  come.'' 

He  paused,  and  turned  away  his  eyes  from  her  with  an 
air  of  abstraction,  till,  with  a  slow  shrug,  he  added,  — 

"  As  for  warnings,  they  are  of  no  use  to  me,  child.  I 
enter  into  no  plots,  but  I  never  forsake  my  colours.  If  I 
march  abreast  Muth  obstinate  men,  who  will  rush  on  guns 
and  pikes,  I  must  share  the  consequences.  Let  us  say  no 
more  about  that.  I  have  not  many  years  left  at  the  bottom 
of  my  sack  for  them  to  rob  me  of.  Go,  child ;  go  home  and 
rest." 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  head  again  caressingly,  and  she 
could  not  help  clinging  to  his  arm,  and  pressing  her  brow 
against  his  shoulder.  Her  godfather's  caress  seemed  the  last 
thing  that  was  left  to  her  out  of  that  young  filial  life,  which 
now  looked  so  happy  to  her  even  in  its  troubles,  for  they 
were  troubles  untainted  by  anything  hateful. 

"  Is  silence  best,  my  Romola?"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  now ;  but  I  cannot  tell  whether  it  always  will 
be,"  she  answered  hesitatingly,  raising  her  head  with  an 
appealing  look. 


224  ROMOLA 

"Well,  you  have  a  father's  ear  while  I  am  above 
ground/'  —  he  lifted  the  black  drapery  and  folded  it  round 
her  head,  adding  —  "and  a  father's  home;  remember  that." 
Then  opening  the  door,  lie  said  :  "  There,  hasten  away.  You 
are  like  a  black  ghost ;  you  will  be  safe  enough." 

When  Romola  fell  asleep  that  night,  she  slept  deep. 
Agitation  had  reached  its  limits;  she  must  gather  strength 
before  she  could  suffer  more ;  and,  in  spite  of  rigid  habit, 
she  slept  on  far  beyond  sunrise. 

When  she  awoke,  it  was  to  the  sound  of  guns.  Piero 
de'  Medici,  with  thirteen  hundred  men  at  his  back,  was  be- 
fore the  gate  that  looks  towards  Rome. 

So  much  Romola  learned  from  Maso,  with  many  cir- 
cumstantial additions  of  dubious  quality.  A  countryman 
had  come  in  and  alarmed  the  Signoria  before  it  was  light, 
else  the  city  would  have  been  taken  by  surprise.  His  master 
was  not  in  the  house,  having  been  summoned  to  the  Palazzo 
long  ago.  She  sent  out  the  old  man  again,  that  he  might 
gather  news,  while  sbe  went  up  to  the  loggia  from  time  to 
time  to  try  and  discern  any  signs  of  the  dreaded  entrance 
having  been  made,  or  of  its  having  been  effectively  repelled. 
Maso  brought  her  word  that  the  great  piazza  was  full  of 
armed  men,  and  that  many  of  the  chief  citizens  suspected  as 
friends  of  the  Medici  had  been  summoned  to  the  palace  and 
detained  there.  Some  of  the  people  seemed  not  to  mind 
whether  Piero  got  in  or  not,  and  some  said  the  Signoria  it- 
self had  invited  him ;  but  however  that  might  be,  they  were 
giving  liim  an  ugly  welcome;  and  the  soldiers  from  Pisa  were 
coming  against  him. 

In  her  memory  of  those  morning  hours,  there  were  not 
many  things  that  Romola  could  distinguish  as  actual  exter- 
nal experiences  standing  markedly  out  above  the  tumultuous 
waves  of  retrospect  and  anticipation.     She  knew  that  she  had 


A  Monk  of  the  Frati  Minori,  or  Franciscans 


3^ranci^ca?iit<s   C/)nucncualU 


THE   EVENING   AND  THE   MORNING     225 

really  walked  to  the  Badia  by  the  appointed  time  in  spite  of 
street  alarms ;  she  knew  that  she  had  waited  there  in  vain. 
And  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  when  she  came  out  of  the 
churchy  and  stood  watching  on  the  steps  while  the  doors 
were  being  closed  behind  her  for  the  afternoon  interval, 
always  came  back  to  her  like  a  remembered  waking. 

There  was  a  change  in  the  faces  and  tones  of  the  people, 
armed  and  unarmed,  who  were  pausing  or  hurrying  along  the 
streets.  The  guns  were  firing  again,  but  the  sound  only  pro- 
voked laughter.  She  soon  knew  the  cause  of  the  change. 
Piero  de^  Medici  and  his  horsemen  had  turned  their  backs  on 
Florence,  and  were  galloping  as  fast  as  they  could  along  the 
Siena  road.  She  learned  this  from  a  substantial  shopkeeping 
Piagnone,  who  had  not  yet  laid  down  his  pike. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  ended,  with  a  certain  bitterness  in  his 
emphasis.  ''  Piero  is  gone,  but  there  are  those  left  behind 
who  were  in  the  secret  of  his  coming,  —  we  all  know  that; 
and  if  the  new  Signoria  does  its  duty,  we  shall  soon  know 
who  they  are." 

The  words  darted  through  Eomola  like  a  sharp  spasm  ; 
but  the  evil  they  foreshadowed  was  not  yet  close  upon  her, 
and  as  she  entered  her  home  again,  her  most  pressing  anxiety 
was  the  possibility  that  she  had  lost  sight  for  a  long  while  of 
Baldassarre. 


—  15 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

WAITING 

THE  lengthening  sunny  days  went  on  without  bringing 
either  what  Romola  most  desired  or  what  she  most 
dreaded.  They  brought  no  sign  from  Baldassarre, 
and,  in  spite  of  special  watch  on  the  part  of  the  government, 
no  revelation  of  the  suspected  conspiracy.  But  they  brought 
other  things  which  touched  her  closely,  and  bridged  the 
phantom-crowded  space  of  anxiety  with  active  sympathy  in 
immediate  trial.  They  brought  the  spreading  Plague  and  the 
Excommunication  of  Savonarola. 

Both  these  events  tended  to  arrest  her  incipient  aliena- 
tion from  the  Prate,  and  to  rivet  again  her  attachment  to  the 
man  who  had  opened  to  her  the  new  life  of  duty,  and  who 
seemed  now  to  be  worsted  in  the  fight  for  principle  against 
profligacy.  For  Eomola  could  not  carry  from  day  to  day  into 
the  abodes  of  pestilence  and  misery  the  sublime  excitement  of 
a  gladness  that,  since  such  anguish  existed,  she  too  existed  to 
make  some  of  the  anguish  less  bitter,  without  remembering 
that  she  owed  this  transcendant  moral  life  to  Fia  Girolamo. 
She  could  not  witness  the  silencing  and  excommunication  of 
a  man  whose  distinction  from  the  great  mass  of  the  clergy  lay, 
not  in  any  heretical  belief,  not  in  his  superstitions,  but  in  the 
energy  with  which  he  sought  to  make  the  Christian  life  a 
reality,  without  feeling  herself  drawn  strongly  to  his  side. 

Par  on  in  the  hot  days  of  June  the  Excommunication, 
for  some  weeks  arrived  from  Rome,  was  solemnly  published  in 
the  Duomo.     Romola  went  to  witness  the  scene,  that  the 


WAITING  227 

resistance  it  inspired  might  invigorate  that  sympathy  with 
Savonarola  which  was  one  source  of  her  strength.  It  was  in 
memorable  contrast  with  the  scene  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  witness  there. 

Instead  of  upturned  citizen-faces  filling  the  vast  area 
under  the  morning  light,  the  youngest  rising  amphitheatre- 
wise  towards  the  walls,  and  making  a  garland  of  hope  around 
the  memories  of  age,  —  instead  of  the  mighty  voice  thrilling 
all  hearts  with  the  sense  of  great  things,  visible  and  invisible, 
to  be  struggled  for,  —  there  were  the  bare  walls  at  evening 
made  more  sombre  by  the  glimmer  of  tapers ;  there  was  the 
black  and  gray  flock  of  monks  and  secular  clergy  with  bent, 
unexpectant  faces ;  there  was  the  occasional  tiukling  of  little 
bells  in  the  pauses  of  a  monotonous  voice  reading  a  sentence 
which  had  already  been  long  hanging  up  in  the  churches; 
and  at  last  there  was  the  extinction  of  the  tapers,  and  the 
slow,  shuffling  tread  of  monkish  feet  departing  in  the  dim 
silence. 

EomoWs  ardour  on  the  side  of  the  Prate  was  doubly 
strengthened  by  the  gleeful  triumph  she  saw  in  hard  and 
coarse  faces,  and  by  the  fear-stricken  confusion  in  the  faces 
and  speech  of  many  among  his  strongly  attached  friends. 
The  question  where  the  duty  of  obedience  ends,  and  the  duty 
of  resistance  begins,  could  in  no  case  be  an  easy  one ;  but  it 
was  made  overwhelmingly  difficult  by  the  belief  that  the 
Church  was  —  not  a  compromise  of  parties  to  secure  a  more 
or  less  approximate  justice  in  the  appropriation  of  funds,  but 
—  a  living  organism,  instinct  with  Divine  power  to  bless  and 
to  curse.  To  most  of  the  pious  Florentines,  who  had  hitherto 
felt  no  doubt  in  their  adherence  to  the  Frate,  that  belief  in 
the  Divine  potency  of  the  Church  was  not  an  embraced  opin- 
ion, it  was  an  inalienable  impression,  like  the  concavity  of  the 
blue  firmament;  and  the   boldness  of   Savonarola's  written 


228  ROMOLA 

arguments  that  the  Excommunication  was  unjust,  and  that, 
being  unjust,  it  was  not  valid,  only  made  them  tremble 
the  more,  as  a  defiance  cast  at  a  mystic  image,  against  whose 
subtle  immeasurable  power  there  was  neither  weapon  nor 
defence. 

But  Romola,  whose  mind  had  not  been  allowed  to  draw 
its  early  nourishment  from  the  traditional  associations  of  the 
Christian  community  in  which  her  father  had  lived  a  life 
apart,  felt  her  relation  to  the  Church  only  through  Savonarola ; 
his  moral  force  had  been  the  only  authority  to  which  she  had 
bowed ;  and  in  his  excommunication  she  only  saw  the  menace 
of  hostile  vice :  on  one  side  she  saw  a  man  whose  life  was 
devoted  to  the  ends  of  public  virtue  and  spiritual  purity,  and 
on  the  other  the  assault  of  alarmed  selfishness,  headed  by  a 
lustful,  greedy,  lying,  and  murderous  old  man,  once  called 
Eodrigo  Borgia,  and  now  lifted  to  the  jjinnacle  of  infamy  as 
Pope  Alexander  the  Sixth.  The  finer  shades  of  fact  which 
soften  the  edge  of  such  antitheses  are  not  apt  to  be  seen 
except  by  neutrals,  who  are  not  distressed  to  discern  some 
folly  in  martyrs  and  some  judiciousness  in  the  men  who  burnt 
them. 

But  Romola  required  a  strength  that  neutrality  could 
not  give;  and  this  Excommunication,  which  simplified  and 
ennobled  the  resistant  position  of  Savonarola  by  bringing 
into  prominence  its  wider  relations,  seemed  to  come  to  her 
like  a  rescue  from  the  threatening  isolation  of  criticism  and 
doubt.  The  Frate  was  now  withdrawn  from  that  smaller  an- 
tagonism against  Florentine  enemies  into  which  he  continu- 
ally fell  in  the  unchecked  excitement  of  the  pulpit,  and 
presented  himself  simply  as  appealing  to  the  Christian  world 
against  a  vicious  exercise  of  ecclesiastical  power.  He  was  a 
standard-bearer  leaping  into  the  breach.  Life  never  seems  so 
clear  and  easy  as  when  the  heart  is  beating  faster  at  the  sight 


An  Augustinian  monk 


r  ramto   zyluqaflvnoMus 


WAITING  229 

of  some  generous  self-risking  deed.  We  feel  no  doubt  then 
what  is  the  highest  prize  the  soul  can  win  ;  we  almost  believe 
in  our  own  power  to  attain  it.  By  a  new  current  of  such 
enthusiasm  Eomola  was  helped  through  these  difficult  summer 
days.  She  had  ventured  on  no  words  to  Tito  that  would  ap- 
prise him  of  her  late  interview  with  Baldassarre,  and  the  rev- 
elation he  had  made  to  her.  What  would  such  agitating, 
difficult  words  win  from  him  ?  No  admission  of  the  truth  ; 
nothing,  probably,  but  a  cool  sarcasm  about  her  sympathy 
with  his  assassin.  Baldassarre  was  evidently  helpless  :  the 
tiling  to  be  feared  was,  not  that  he  should  injure  Tito,  but 
that  Tito,  coming  upon  his  traces,  should  carry  out  some 
new  scheme  for  ridding  himself  of  the  injured  man  who  was 
a  haunting  dread  to  him.  Eomola  felt  that  she  could  do 
nothing  decisive  until  she  had  seen  Baldassarre  again,  and 
learned  the  full  truth  about  that  "  other  wife,^^  —  learned 
whether  she  were  the  wife  to  whom  Tito  was  first  bound. 

The  possibilities  about  that  other  wife,  which  involved 
the  worst  wound  to  her  hereditary  pride,  mingled  themselves 
as  a  newly  embittering  suspicion  with  the  earliest  memories 
of  her  illusory  love,  eating  away  the  lingering  associations 
of  tenderness  with  the  past  image  of  her  husband ;  and  her 
irresistible  belief  in  the  rest  of  Baldassarre^s  revelation  made 
her  shrink  from  Tito  with  a  horror  which  would  perhaps 
have  urged  some  passionate  speech  in  spite  of  herself  if  he 
liad  not  been  more  than  usually  absent  from  home.  Like 
many  of  the  wealthier  citizens  in  that  time  of  pestilence,  he 
spent  the  intervals  of  business  chiefly  in  the  country :  the 
agreeable  Melema  was  welcome  at  many  villas,  and  since 
Romola  had  refused  to  leave  the  city,  he  had  no  need  to 
provide  a  country  residence  of  his  own. 

But  at  last,  in  the  later  days  of  July,  the  alleviation  of 
those  public  troubles  which  had  absorbed  her  activity  and 


230  ROMOLA 

mucli  of  her  thought,  left  Eomola  to  a  less  counteracted 
sense  of  her  personal  lot.  The  Plague  had  almost  dis- 
appeared, and  the  position  of  Savonarola  was  made  more 
hopeful  by  a  favourable  magistracy,  who  were  writing  urgent 
vindicatory  letters  to  Rome  on  his  behalf,  entreating  the 
withdrawal  of  the  Excommunication. 

Eiomola^s  healthy  and  vigorous  frame  was  undergoing 
the  reaction  of  languor  inevitable  after  continuous  excitement 
and  over-exertion;  but  her  mental  restlessness  would  not 
allow  her  to  remain  at  home  without  peremptory  occupation, 
except  during  the  sultry  hours.  In  the  cool  of  the  morning 
and  evening  she  walked  out  constantly,  varying  her  direction 
as  much  as  possible,  with  the  vague  hope  that  if  Baldassarre 
were  still  alive  she  might  encounter  him.  Perhaps  some 
illness  had  brought  a  new  paralysis  of  memory,  and  he  had 
forgotten  where  she  lived,  —  forgotten  even  her  existence. 
That  was  her  most  sanguine  explanation  of  his  non-appear- 
ance. The  explanation  she  felt  to  be  most  probable  was, 
that  he  had  died  of  the  Plague. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE    OTHER    AVIFE 

THE    morning   warmth  was   already   beginning  to  be 
rather  oppressive  to  Romola,  whcn^  after  a  walk  along 
by  the  walls  on  her  way  from  San  Marco^  she  turned 
towards  the  intersecting  streets  again  at  the  gate  of  Santa 
Croce. 

The  Borgo  La  Croce  was  so  still  that  she  listened  to  her 
own  footsteps  on  the  pavement  in  the  sunny  silence,  until, 
on  approaching  a  bend  in  the  street,  she  saw,  a  few  yards 
before  her,  a  little  child  not  more  than  three  years  old,  w^ith 
no  other  clothing  than  his  white  shirt,  pause  from  a  waddling 
run  and  look  around  him.  In  the  first  moment  of  coming 
nearer  she  could  only  see  his  back,  —  a  boy's  back,  square 
and  sturdy,  with  a  cloud  of  reddish-brown  curls  above  it; 
but  in  the  next  he  turned  towards  her,  and  she  could  see  his 
dark  eyes  wide  with  tears,  and  his  lower  lip  pushed  up  and 
trembling,  while  his  fat  brown  fists  clutched  his  shirt  help- 
lessly. The  glimpse  of  a  tall  black  figure  sending  a  shadow 
over  him  brought  his  bewildered  fear  to  a  climax,  and  a  loud 
crying  sob  sent  the  big  tears  rolling. 

Romola,  with  the  ready  maternal  instinct  which  was 
one  hidden  source  of  her  passionate  tenderness,  instantly 
uncovered  her  head,  and,  stooping  down  on  the  pavement, 
put  her  arms  round  him,  and  her  cheeks  against  his,  while 
she  spoke  to  him  in  caressing  tones.  xVt  first  his  sobs  were 
only  the  louder,  but  he  made  no  eS'ort  to  get  away,  and  pres- 
ently the  outburst  ceased  with  that  strange  abruptness  which 


232  ROMOLA 

belongs  to  childisli  joys  and  griefs  :  his  face  lost  its  distortion, 
and  was  fixed  in  an  open-mouthed  gaze  at  Romola. 

"  You  have  lost  yourself,  little  one,"  she  said,  kissing 
him.  "Never  mind  !  we  will  find  the  house  again.  Perhaps 
mamma  will  meet  us." 

She  divined  that  he  had  made  his  escape  at  a  moment 
when  the  mother's  eyes  were  turned  away  from  liim,  and 
thought  it  likely  that  he  would  soon  be  followed. 

"  Oh,  what  a  heavy,  heavy  boy  ! "  she  said,  trying  to  lift 
him.  "  I  cannot  carry  you.  Come,  then,  you  must  toddle 
back  by  my  side." 

The  parted  lips  remained  motionless  in  awed  silence,  and 
one  brown  fist  still  clutched  the  shirt  with  as  much  tenacity 
as  ever;  but  the  other  yielded  itself  quite  willingly  to  the 
wonderful  white  hand,  strong  but  soft. 

"  You  have  a  mamma  ?  "  said  Romola,  as  they  set  out, 
looking  down  at  the  boy  with  a  certain  yearning.  But  he 
was  mute.  A  girl  under  those  circumstances  might  perhaps 
have  chirped  abundantly ;  not  so  this  square-shouldered  little 
man  with  the  big  cloud  of  curls. 

He  was  awake  to  the  first  sign  of  his  whereabout,  how- 
ever. At  the  turning  by  the  front  of  San  Ambrogio  he 
dragged  Romola  towards  it,  looking  up  at  her. 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  way  home,  is  it  ?  "  she  said,  smiling 
at  him.  He  only  thrust  his  head  forward  and  pulled,  as  an 
admonition  that  they  should  go  faster. 

There  was  still  another  turning  that  he  had  a  decided 
opinion  about,  and  then  Romola  found  herself  in  a  short  street 
leading  to  open  garden  grouiul.  It  was  in  front  of  a  house 
at  the  end  of  this  street  that  the  little  fellow  paused,  pulling 
her  towards  some  stone  stairs.  He  had  evidently  no  wish  for 
her  to  loose  his  hand,  and  she  would  not  have  been  willing  to 
leave  him  without  being  sure  that  she  was  delivering  him  to 


THE   OTHER  WIFE  233 

his  friends,  Thej  mounted  tlie  stairs,  seeing  but  dimly  in 
that  sudden  withdrawal  from  the  sunlight,  till,  at  the  final 
landing-place,  an  extra  stream  of  light  came  from  an  open 
doorway.  Passing  through  a  small  lobby,  they  came  to 
another  open  door,  and  there  Romola  paused.  Her  approach 
had  not  been  heard. 

On  a  low  chair  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  opposite 
the  light,  sat  Tessa,  with  one  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  cradle, 
and  her  head  hanging  a  little  on  one  side,  fast  asleep.  Near 
one  of  the  windows,  with  her  back  turned  towards  the  door, 
sat  Monna  Lisa  at  her  work  of  preparing  salad,  in  deaf  un- 
consciousness. There  was  only  an  instant  for  Romola's  eyes  to 
take  in  that  still  scene ;  for  Lillo  snatched  his  hand  away  from 
her  and  ran  up  to  his  mother's  side,  not  making  any  direct 
effort  to  wake  her,  but  only  leaning  his  head  back  against 
her  arm,  and  surveying  Romola  seriously  from  that  distance. 

As  Lillo  pushed  against  her,  Tessa  opened  her  eyes,  and 
looked  up  in  bewilderment ;  but  her  glance  had  no  sooner 
rested  on  the  figure  at  the  opposite  doorway  than  she  started 
up,  blushed  deeply,  and  began  to  tremble  a  little,  neither 
speaking  nor  moving  forward. 

"  Ah !  we  have  seen  each  other  before,'^  said  Eomola, 
smiling,  and  coming  forward.  "  I  am  glad  it  was  your 
little  boy.  He  was  crying  in  the  street ;  I  suppose  he  had. 
run  away.  So  we  walked  together  a  little  way,  and  then  he 
knew  where  he  was,  and.  brought  me  here.  But  you  had 
not  missed  him  ?  That  is  well,  else  you  would  have  been 
frightened.'^ 

The  shock  of  finding  that  Lillo  had  run  away  overcame 
every  other  feeling  in  Tessa  for  the  moment.  Her  colour  m  ent 
again,  and,  seizing  Lillo's  arm,  she  ran  with  him  to  Momia 
Lisa,  saying,  with  a  half  sob,  loud  in  the  old  woman's  ear,  — 

"  Oh,  Lisa,  you  are  wicked  !     Why  will  you  stand  with 


234  ROMOLA 

your  back  to  the  door  ?     Lillo  ran  away  ever  so  far  into  the 
street/' 

"  Holy  mother  !  "  said  IMonna  Lisa,  in  her  meek,  thick 
tone,  letting  tlie  spoon  fall  from  her  hands.  "  Where  were 
}/ou  (hen?  I  thought  you  were  there  and  had  an  eye  on 
him/' 

'But  you  know  I  go  to  sleep  when  I  am  rocking/'  said 
Tessa,  in  pettish  remonstrance. 

"  Well,  well,  we  must  keep  the  outer  door  shut,  or  else 
tie  him  up,"  said  Monna  Lisa,  "  for  he  '11  be  as  cunning  as 
Satan  before  long,  and  that  "'s  the  holy  truth.  But  how  came 
he  back,  then  ?  " 

This  question  recalled  Tessa  to  the  consciousness  of 
Eomola's  presence.  Without  answering,  she  turned  towards 
her,  blushing  and  timid  again,  and  Monna  Lisa's  eyes  followed 
her  movement.  The  old  woman  made  a  low  reverence,  and 
said,  — 

^"^  Doubtless  the  most  noble  lady  brought  him  back." 
Then,  advancing  a  little  nearer  to  Romola,  she  added  :  "  It 's 
my  shame  ^or  him  to  have  been  found  with  only  his  shirt  on ; 
but  he  kicked,  and  would  n't  have  his  other  clothes  on  this 
morning,  and  the  mother,  poor  thing,  will  never  hear  of  his 
being  beaten.  But  what 's  an  old  woman  to  do  without  a 
stick  w^hen  the  lad's  legs  get  so  strong  ?  Let  your  nobleness 
look  at  his  legs." 

Lillo,  conscious  that  his  legs  were  in  question,  pulled  his 
shirt  up  a  little  higher,  and  looked  down  at  their  olive  round- 
ness with  a  dispassionate  and  curious  air.  Romola  laughed, 
and  stooped  to  give  him  a  caressing  shake  and  a  kiss,  and  this 
action  helped  the  reassurance  that  Tessa  had  already  gathered 
from  Monna  Lisa's  address  to  Romola.  Por  when  Naldo 
had  been  told  about  the  adventure  of  the  Carnival,  and  Tessa 
had  asked  him  who  the  heavenly  lady  that  had  come  just  when 


A  Car.^ielite  monk 


a-Ur     ( armeh'td 


_j 


THE   OTHER   WIFE  235 

she  was  wanted,  and  had  vanislied  so  sooii^  was  likely  to  be,  — 
whether  she  could  be  the  Holy  Madonna  herself?  —  he  had 
answered,  "  Not  exactly,  my  Tessa ;  only  one  of  the  saints," 
and  had  not  chosen  to  say  more.  So  that  in  the  dreamlike 
combination  of  small  experience  which  made  up  Tessa's 
thought,  Eomola  had  remained  confusedly  associated  with 
the  pictures -in  the  churches,  and  when  she  reappeared,  the 
grateful  remembrance  of  her  protection  was  slightly  tinctured 
with  religious  awe,  —  not  deeply,  for  Tessa's  dnad  was  chiefly 
of  ugly  and  evil  beings.  It  seemed  unlikely  that  good  beings 
would  be  angry  and  punish  her,  as  it  was  the  nature  of  Nofri 
and  the  devil  to  do.  And  now  that  Monna  Lisa  had  spoken 
freely  about  Lillo's  legs  and  Eomola  had  laughed,  Tessa  was 
more  at  her  ease. 

"Ninna^s  in  the  cradle,"  she  said.  "She's  pretty 
too." 

Romola  went  to  look  at  the  sleeping  Ninna ;  and  Monna 
Lisa,  one  of  the  exceptionally  meek  deaf,  who  never  expect  to 
be  spoken  to,  returned  to  her  salad. 

"  Ah !  she  is  waking :  she  has  opened  her  blue  eyes," 
said  Romola.  '^You  must  take  her  up,  and  I  will  sit 
down  in  this  chair  —  may  I  ?  —  and  nurse  Lillo.  Come, 
Lillo  ! " 

She  sat  down  in  Tito's  chair,  and  put  out  her  arms 
towards  the  lad,  whose  eyes  had  followed  her.  He  hesitated; 
and,  pointing  his  small  fingers  at  her  with  a  half-puzzled, 
half-angry  feeling,  said,  "  That 's  Babbo's  chair,"  not  seeing 
his  way  out  of  the  difficulty  if  Babbo  came  and  fomid 
Romola  in  his  place. 

"  But  Babbo  is  not  here,  and  I  shall  go  soon.  Come, 
let  me  nurse  you  as  he  does,"  said  Romola,  wondering  to 
herself  for  the  first  time  what  sort  of  Babbo  he  was  whose 
wife  was   dressed   in  contadina  fashion,   but  had  a  certain 


236  ROMOLA 

daintiness  about  her  person  that  indicated  idh^ncss  and  plenty. 
Lilhj  consented  to  be  hfted  up,  and,  finding  the  hip  exceed- 
ingly comfortable,  began  to  explore  her  dress  and  hands,  to 
see  if  there  were  any  ornaments  beside  tlie  rosary. 

Tessa,  wlio  had  hitherto  been  occupied  in  coaxing  Ninna 
out  of  her  waking  peevishness,  now  sat  down  in  her  low 
chair,  near  Romola's  knee,  arranging  Ninna's  tiny  person  to 
advantage,  jealous  that  the  strange  lady,  too,  seemed  to  notice 
the  boy  most,  as  Naldo  did. 

"  Lillo  was  going  to  be  angry  with  me,  because  I 
sat  in  Babbo's  chair,^'  said  Romola,  as  she  bent  forward 
to  kiss  Ninna's  little  foot.  "  Will  he  come  soon  and  want 
it?" 

"  Ah,  no  !  "  said  Tessa,  "  you  can  sit  in  it  a  long  while. 
I  sliall  be  sorry  when  you  go.  When  you  first  came  to  take 
care  of  me  at  the  Carnival,  I  thought  it  was  wonderful ;  you 
came  and  went  away  again  so  fast.  And  Naldo  said,  per- 
haps you  were  a  saint,  and  that  made  me  tremble  a  little 
though  the  saints  are  very  good,  I  know ;  and  you  were  good 
to  me,  and  now  you  have  taken  care  of  Lillo.  Perhaps  you 
will  always  come  and  take  care  of  me.  That  was  how  Naldo 
did  a  long  while  ago ;  he  came  and  took  care  of  me  when 
I  was  frightened,  one  San  Giovanni.  I  could  n^t  think 
where  he  came  from,  —  he  was  so  beautiful  and  good.  And 
so  are  you,"  ended  Tessa,  looking  up  at  Uomola  with  devout 
admiration. 

"  Naldo  is  your  husband.  His  eyes  are  like  Lillo's,^' 
said  Roniola,  looking  at  the  boy's  darkly  pencilled  eyebrows, 
unusual  at  his  age.  She  did  not  speak  interrogatively,  but 
with  a  quiet  certainty  of  inference  which  was  necessarily 
mysterious  to  Tessa. 

"  Ah !  you  know  him !  "  she  said,  pausing  a  little  in 
wonder.     "  Perhaps  you  know  Nofri  and  Peretola,  and  our 


THE   OTHER   WIFE  237 

house  on  the  hill,  and  everything.  Yes,  like  Lillo^s ;  but 
not  his  hair.  His  hair  is  dark  and  long,"  she  went  on, 
getting  rather  excited.     "  Ah !  if  you  know  it,  ecco  !  " 

She  had  pnt  her  hand  to  a  thin  red  silk  cord  that  hung 
round  her  neck,  and  drew  from  her  bosom  the  tiny  old 
parchment  dreve,  the  horn  of  red  coral,  and  a  long  dark  curl 
carefully  tied  at  one  end  and  suspended  with  those  mystic 
treasures.  She  held  them  towards  Romola,  away  from 
Ninna's  snatching  hand. 

"  It  is  a  fresh  one.  I  cut  it  lately.  See  how  bright  it 
is ! "  she  said,  laying  it  against  the  white  background  of 
Eomola's  fingers.  "  They  get  dim,  and  then  he  lets  me  cut 
another  when  his  hair  is  grown  ;  and  I  put  it  with  the  brere, 
because  sometimes  he  is  away  a  long  while,  and  then  I  think 
it  helps  to  take  care  of  me." 

A  slight  shiver  passed  through  Eomola  as  the  curl  was 
laid  across  her  fingers.  At  Tessa's  first  mention  of  her  hus- 
band as  having  come  mysteriously  she  knew  not  whence,  a 
possibility  had  risen  before  Romola  that  made  her  heart  beat 
faster ;  for  to  one  who  is  anxiously  in  search  of  a  certain  object 
the  faintest  suggestions  have  a  peculiar  significance.  And 
when  the  curl  was  held  towards  her,  it  seemed  for  an  instant 
like  a  mocking  faiitasm  of  the  lock  she  herself  had  cut  to  wind 
with  one  of  her  own  five  years  ago.  But  she  preserved  her 
outward  calmness,  bent  not  only  on  knowing  the  truth,  but 
also  on  coming  to  that  knowledge  in  a  way  that  would  not 
pain  this  poor,  trusting,  ignorant  thing,  with  the  child's  mind 
in  the  woman's  body.  "  Foolish  and  helpless  :  "  yes  ;  so  far 
she  corresponded  to  Baldassarre's  account. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  curl,"  she  said,  resisting  the  impulse 
to  withdraw  her  hand.  "  Lillo's  curls  will  be  like  it,  perhaps, 
for  /lis  cheek,  too,  is  dark.  And  you  never  know  where  your 
husband  goes  to  when  he  leaves  you  ?  " 


238  ROMOLA 

''No,"  said  Tessa,  putting  back  her  treasures  out  of  the 
children's  way.  "  But  I  know  Messer  San  Michele  takes  care 
of  him,  for  he  gave  him  a  beautiful  coat,  all  made  of  little 
chains ;  and  if  he  puts  that  on,  nobody  can  kill  him.  And 
perhaps,  if  —  "  Tessa  hesitated  a  little,  under  a  recurrence  of 
that  original  dreamy  wonder  about  Romola  which  had  been 
expelled  by  chatting  contact,  — "  if  you  were  a  saint,  you 
■would  take  care  of  him,  too,  because  you  have  taken  care  of 
me  and  Lillo." 

An  agitated  flush  came  over  Romola's  face  in  the  first 
moment  of  certainty,  but  she  had  bent  her  cheek  against 
Lillo's  head.  The  feeling  that  leaped  out  in  that  flush  was 
something  like  exultation  at  the  thought  that  the  wife's  burden 
might  be  about  to  slip  from  her  overladen  shoulders ;  that  this 
little  ignorant  creature  might  prove  to  be  Tito's  lawful  wife. 
A  strange  exultation  for  a-proud  and  high-born  woman  to  have 
been  brought  to  !  But  it  seemed  to  Eomola  as  if  that  were 
the  only  issue  that  would  make  duty  anything  else  for  her 
than  an  insoluble  problem.  Yet  she  was  not  deaf  to  Tessa's 
last  appealing  words;  she  raised  her  head,  and  said  in  her 
clearest  tones, — 

"I  will  always  take  care  of  you- if  I  see  you  need  me. 
But  that  beautiful  coat  ?  your  husband  did  not  wear  it  when 
you  were  first  married  ?  Perhaps  he  used  not  to  be  so  long 
away  from  you  then  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes  !  he  was.  Much  —  much  longer.  So  long, 
I  thought  he  would  never  come  back.  I  used  to  cry.  Oh 
me !  I  was  beaten  then ;  a  long,  long  while  ago  at  Peretola, 
where  we  had  the  goats  and  mules." 

"  And  how  long  had  you  been  married  before  your  hus- 
band had  that  chain  coat  ?  "  said  Eomola,  her  heart  beating- 
faster  and  faster. 

Tessa  looked   meditative,  and   began  to  count  on   her 


THE   OTHER   WIFE  239 

fingers^  and  Eomola  watched  the  fingers  as  if  they  would  tell 
the  secret  of  her  destiny. 

"The  chestnuts  were  ripe  when  we  were  married,"  said 
Tessa,  marking  off  her  thumb  and  fingers  again  as  she  spoke ; 
"  and  then  again  they  were  ripe  at  Peretola  before  he  came 
back,  and  then  again,  after  that,  on  the  hill.  And  soon  the 
soldiers  came,  and  we  heard  the  trumpets,  and  then  Naldo 
had  the  coat." 

"  You  had  been  married  more  than  two  years.  In  which 
church  were  you  married  ?  "  said  Romola,  too  entirely  absorbed 
by  one  thought  to  put  any  question  that  was  less  direct. 
Perhaps  before  the  next  morning  she  might  go  to  her  god- 
father and  say  that  she  was  not  Tito  Melema's  lawful  wife,  — 
that  the  vows  wliich  had  bound  her  to  strive  after  an  impossible 
union  had  been  made  void  beforehand. 

Tessa  gave  a  slight  start  at  Romola^s  new  tone  of  inquiry, 
and  looked  up  at  her  with  a  hesitating  expression.  Hitherto 
she  had  prattled  on  without  consciousness  that  she  was  mak- 
ing revelations,  any  more  tliau  when  she  said  old  things  over 
and  over  again  to  Monna  Lisa. 

"Naldo  said  I  was  never  to  tell  about  that,"  she  said 
doubtfully.     "  Do  you  thmk  he  would  not  be  angry  if  I  told 

you?" 

"  It  is  right  that  you  should  teU  me.  Tell  me  every- 
tliing,"  said  Romola,  looking  at  her  with  mild  authority. 

If  the  impression  from  Naldo's  command  had  been 
much  more  recent  than  it  was,  the  constraining  eff'ect  of 
Eomola's  mysterious  authority  would  have  overcome  it.  But 
the  sense  that  she  was  telling  what  she  had  never  told  before 
made  her  begin  with  a  lowered  voice. 

"  It  was  not  in  a  church,  —  it  was  at  the  Nativita,  wlien 
there  was  a  fair,  and  all  tlie  people  went  over-night  to  see  the 
Madonna  in  the  Nunziata,  and  my  mother  was  ill  and  could  n't 


240  ROMOLA 

go,  and  I  took  the  bunch  of  cocoons  for  her ;  and  then  he  came 
to  me  in  the  church,  and  I  heard  him  say,  *  Tessa  ! '  I  knew 
him  because  he  had  taken  care  of  me  at  the  San  Giovanni,  and 
then  we  went  into  the  piazza  where  the  fair  was,  and  I  had 
some  berlingozzi,  for  I  was  hungry  and  he  was  very  good  to 
me ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  piazza  there  was  a  holy  father,  and 
an  altar  like  what  they  have  at  the  processions  outside  the 
churches.  So  he  married  us,  and  then  Naldo  took  me  back 
into  the  church  and  left  me ;  and  I  went  home,  and  my  mother 
died,  and  Nofri  began  to  beat  me  more,  and  Naldo  never  came 
back.  And  I  used  to  cry,  and  once  at  the  Carnival  I  saw  him 
and  followed  him,  and  he  was  angry,  and  said  he  would  come 
some  time,  I  must  wait.  So  I  went  and  waited  ;  but  oh  !  it 
was  a  long  while  before  he  came ;  but  he  would  have  come  if 
he  could,  for  he  was  good  ;  and  then  he  took  me  away,  because 
I  cried  and  said  I  could  not  bear  to  stay  with  Nofri.  And, 
oh  !  I  was  so  glad,  and  since  then  I  have  been  always  happy, 
for  I  don^t  mind  about  the  goats  and  mules,  because  I  have 
Lillo  and  Ninna  now;  and  Naldo  is  never  angry,  only  I 
think  he  does  n't  love  Ninna  so  well  as  Lillo,  and  she  is 
pretty." 

Quite  forgetting  that  she  had  thought  her  speech  rather 
momentous  at  the  beginning,  Tessa  fell  to  devouring  Ninna 
with  kisses,  while  Romola  sat  in  silence  with  absent  eyes.  It 
was  inevitable  that  in  this  moment  she  should  think  of  the 
three  beings  before  her  chiefly  in  their  relation  to  her  own 
lot,  and  she  was  feeling  the  chill  of  disappointment  that  her 
difficulties  were  not  to  be  solved  by  external  law.  She  had 
relaxed  her  hold  of  Lillo,  and  was  leaning  her  cheek  against 
her  hand,  seeing  nothing  of  the  scene  around  her.  Lillo 
was  quick  in  perceiving  a  change  that  was  not  agreeable 
to  him ;  he  had  not  yet  made  any  return  to  her  caresses, 
but  he  objected  to  their  withdrawal^  and  putting  up  both 


A  Monk  of  the  Servites,  or  Servants 
of  the  Divine  Mother 


^J.'/7^'M    //i  r    flaru: 


THE   OTHER   WIFE  241 

his  brown  arms  to  pull  her  head  towards  him,  he  said,  "  Play 
with  me  again  !  " 

Romola,  roused  from  her  self-absorption,  clasped  the  lad 
anew,  and  looked  from  him  to  Tessa,  who  had  now  paused 
from  her  shoM-er  of  kisses,  and  seemed  to  have  returned  to  the 
more  placid  delight  of  contemplating  the  heavenly  lady's  face. 
That  face  was  undergoing  a  subtle  change,  like  the  gradual 
oncoming  of  a  warmer,  softer  light.  Presently  Eomola  took 
her  scissors  from  her  scarsella,  and  cut  off  one  of  her  long 
wavy  locks,  while  the  three  pair  of  wide  eyes  followed  her 
movements  with  kitten-like  observation. 

"  I  must  go  away  from  you  now,''  she  said,  "  but  I  will 
leave  this  lock  of  hair  that  it  may  remind  you  of  me,  because 
if  you  are  ever  in  trouble  you  can  think  that  perhaps  God 
will  send  me  to  t^ke  care  of  you  again.  I  cannot  tell  you 
where  to  find  me,  but  if  I  ever  know  that  you  want  me,  I 
will  come  to  you.     Addio  !  " 

She  had  set  down  Lillo  hurriedly,  and  Jield  out  her 
hand  to  Tessa,  who  kissed  it  with  a  mixture  of  awe  and 
sorrow  at  this  parting.  Romola's  mind  was  oppressed  with 
thoughts ;  she  needed  to  be  alone  as  soon  as  possible,  but 
with  her  habitual  care  for  the  least  fortunate,  she  turned 
aside  to  put  her  hand  in  a  friendly  way  on  Monna  Lisa's 
shoulder  and  make  her  a  farewell  sign.  Before  the  old 
woman  had  finished  her  deep  reverence,  Eomola  had 
disappeared. 

Monna  Lisa  and  Tessa  moved  towards  each  other  by 
simultaneous  impulses,  while  the  two  children  stood  cling- 
ing to  their  mother's  skirts  as  if  they,  too,  felt  the  atmos- 
phere of  awe. 

"  Do  you  tiiink  she  was  a  saint  ?  "  said  Tessa,  in  Lisa's 
ear,  showing  her  the  lock. 

Lisa  rejected  that  notion  very  decidedly  by  a  backward 

VOL.    II. 10 


242  ROMOLA 

movement  of  her  fingers,  and  then  stroking  the  rippled  gold, 
said,  — 

"  She 's  a  great  and  noble  lady.  I  saw  such  in  my 
youth/' 

Romola  went  liome  and  sat  alone  through  the  sultry 
hours  of  that  day  with  the  heavy  certainty  that  her  lot  was 
unchanged.  She  was  thrown  back  again  on  the  conflict  be- 
tween the  demands  of  an  outward  law,  which  she  recognized 
as  a  widely  ramifying  obligation,  and  the  demands  of  inner 
moral  facts  which  were  becoming  more  and  more  peremp- 
tory. She  had  drunk  in  deeply  the  spirit  of  that  teaching 
by  which  Savonarola  had  urged  her  to  return  to  her  place. 
She  felt  that  the  sanctity  attached  to  all  close  relations,  and, 
therefore,  pre-eminently  to  the  closest,  was  but  the  expression 
in  outward  law  of  that  result  towards  which  all  human  good- 
ness and  nobleness  must  spontaneously  tend ;  that  the  light 
abandonment  of  ties,  whether  inherited  or  voluntary,  because 
they  had  ceased  to  be  pleasant,  was  the  uprooting  of  social 
and  personal  virtue.  What  else  had  Tito's  crime  towards 
Baldassarre  been  but  that  abandonment  working  itself  out 
to  the  most  hideous  extreme  of  falsity  and  ingratitude? 

And  the  inspiring  consciousness  breathed  into  her  by 
Savonarola's  influence  that  her  lot  was  vitally  united  with  the 
general  lot  had  exalted  even  the  minor  details  of  obligation 
into  religion.  She  was  marching  with  a  great  army ;  she  was 
feeling  the  stress  of  a  common  life.  If  victims  were  needed, 
and  it  was  uncertain  on  whom  the  lot  might  fall,  she  would 
stand  ready  to  answer  to  her  name.  She  had  stood  long; 
she  had  striven  hard  to  fulfil  the  bond,  but  she  had  seen  all 
the  conditions  which  made  the  fulfilment  possible  gradually 
forsaking  her.  The  one  effect  of  her  marriage-tie  seemed 
to  be  the  stifling  predominance  over  her  of  a  nature  that 
she  despised.     All  her  efforts  at  union  had  only  made  its 


THE   OTHER   WIFE  243 

impossibility  more  palpable,  and  the  relation  had  become  for 
her  simply  a  degrading  servitude.  The  law  was  sacred.  Yes, 
but  rebellion  might  be  sacred  too.  It  flashed  upon  her  mind 
that  the  problem  before  her  was  essentially  the  same  as  that 
which  had  lain  before  Savonarola,  —  the  problem  where  the 
sacredness  of  obedience  ended,  and  where  the  sacredness  of 
rebellion  began.  To  her,  as  to  him,  there  had  come  one  of 
those  moments  in  life  when  the  soul  must  dare  to  act  on  its 
own  warrant,  not  only  without  external  law  to  appeal  to,  but 
in  the  face  of  a  law  which  is  not  unarmed  with  Divine  light- 
nings, —  lightnings  that  may  yet  fall  if  the  warrant  has  been 
false. 

Before  the  sun  had  gone  down  she  had  adopted  a  resolve. 
She  would  ask  no  counsel  of  her  godfather  or  of  Savonarola 
until  she  had  made  one  determined  effort  to  speak  freely  with 
Tito  and  obtain  his  consent  that  she  should  live  apart  from 
him.  She  desired  not  to  leave  him  clandestinely  again,  or  to 
forsake  Florence.  She  would  tell  him  that  if  he  ever  felt  a  real 
need  of  her,  she  would  come  back  to  him.  Was  not  that  the 
utmost  faithfulness  to  her  bond  that  could  be  required  of  her? 
A  shuddering  anticipation  came  over  her  that  he  would  clothe 
a  refusal  in  a  sneering  suggestion  that  slie  should  enter  a  con- 
vent as  the  only  mode  of  quitting  him  that  would  not  be 
scandalous.  He  knew  well  that  her  mind  revolted  from  that 
means  of  escape,  not  only  because  of  her  own  repugnance 
to  a  narrow  rule,  but  because  all  the  cherished  memories 
of  her  father  forbade  that  she  should  adopt  a  mode  of  life 
whicli  was  associated  with  his  deepest  griefs  and  his  bitterest 
dislike. 

Tito  had  announced  his  intention  of  coming  home  this 
evening.  She  would  wait  for  him,  and  say  what  she  had  to 
say  at  once,  for  it  was  difficult  to  get  his  ear  during  the  day. 
If  he  had  the  slightest  suspicion  tliat  personal  words  were 


244  ROMOLA 

coming,  he  slipped  away  with  an  appearance  of  unpremedi- 
tated ease.  When  she  sent  for  Maso  to  tell  him  that  she 
would  wait  for  his  master,  she  observed  that  the  old  man 
looked  at  her  and  lingered  with  a  mixture  of  hesitation  and 
wondering  anxiety  ;  but  finding  that  she  asked  him  no  ques- 
tion, he  slowly  turned  away.  Why  should  she  ask  questions  ? 
Perhaps  Maso  only  knew  or  guessed  something  of  what  she 
knew  already. 

It  was  late  before  Tito  came.  Romola  had  been  pacing 
up  and  down  the  long  room  which  had  once  been  the  library, 
with  the  windows  open,  and  a  loose  white  linen  robe  on  in- 
stead of  her  usual  black  garment.  She  was  glad  of  that 
change  after  the  long  hours  of  heat  and  motionless  meditation ; 
but  the  coolness  and  exercise  made  her  more  intensely  wakeful, 
and  as  she  went  with  the  lamp  in  her  hand  to  open  tlie  door 
for  Tito,  he  might  well  have  been  startled  by  the  vividness  of 
her  eyes  and  the  expression  of  painful  resolution,  which  was  in 
contrast  with  her  usual  self-restrained  quiescence  before  him. 
But  it  seemed  that  this  excitement  was  just  what  he  expected. 

"Ah  !  it  is  you,  Romola.  Maso  is  gone  to  bed,^^  he 
said,  in  a  grave,  quiet  tone,  interposing  to  close  the  door  for 
her.  Then,  turning  round,  he  said,  looking  at  her  more  fully 
than  he  was  wont,  "  You  have  heard  it  all,  I  see.^' 

Romola  quivered.  He  then  was  inclined  to  take  the 
initiative.  He  had  been  to  Tessa.  She  led  the  way  through 
the  nearest  door,  set  down  her  lamp,  and  turned  towards  him 
again. 

"  You  must  not  think  despairingly  of  the  consequences," 
said  Tito,  in  a  tone  of  soothing  encouragement,  at  which 
Eomola  stood  wondering,  until  he  added,  "  The  accused  have 
too  many  family  ties  with  all  parties  not  to  escape;  and 
Messer  Bernardo  del  Nero  has  other  things  in  his  favour 
besides  his  age." 


A  DoArivicAX  monk 


)\dini.  I/^'cJlCi.,..     ,  ri;  XHuKiini,::: 


THE   OTHER   WIFE  245 

Eomola  started^  and  gave  a  cry  as  if  she  had  been  sud- 
denly stricken  by  a  sharp  weapon. 

"  What !  you  did  not  know  it  ?  "  said  Tito,  putting  his 
hand  under  her  arm  that  he  might  lead  her  to  a  seat ;  but 
she  seemed  to  be  unaware  of  his  touch. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  hastily,  —  "  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  A  man,  whose  name  you  may  forget,  —  Lamberto  dell' 
Antella,  —  who  was  banished,  has  been  seized  within  the  ter- 
ritory :  a  letter  has  been  found  on  him  of  very  dangerous 
import  to  the  chief  Mediceans ;  and  tlie  scoundrel,  who  was 
once  a  favourite  hound  of  Piero  de'  Medici,  is  ready  now  to 
swear  wliat  any  one  pleases  against  him  or  his  friends.  Some 
have  made  their  escape,  but  five  are  now  in  prison. '' 

"  My  godfather  ?  "  said  Romola,  scarcely  above  a  whis- 
per, as  Tito  made  a  slight  pause. 

"  Yes ;  I  grieve  to  say  it.  But  along  with  him  there 
are  three,  at  least,  whose  names  have  a  commanding  interest 
even  among  the  popular  party,  —  Niccolb  Ridolfi,  Lorenzo 
Tornabuoni,  and  Giainiozzo  Pucci." 

The  tide  of  Romola's  feelings  had  been  violently  turned 
into  a  new  channel.  In  the  tumult  of  that  moment  there 
could  be  no  check  to  tlie  words  which  came  as  the  impulsive 
utterance  of  her  long-accumulating  horror.  When  Tito  had 
named  the  men  of  whom  she  felt  certain  he  was  the  con- 
federate, she  said,  with  a  recoiling  gesture  and  low-toned 
bitterness,  — 

"  And  1/ou  —  you  are  safe  ?  " 

"You  are  certainly  an  amiable  wife,  my  Romola,"  said 
Tito,  with  the  coldest  irony.     "-  Yes  ;  I  am  safe." 

They  turned  away  from  each  other  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

WHY    TITO   WAS    SAFE 

TITO  had  good  reasons  for  saying  that  he  was  safe.  In 
the  last  three  months,  during  which  he  had  foreseen 
the  discovery  of  the  Medicean  conspirators  as  a  proba- 
ble event,  he  had  had  plenty  of  time  to  provide  himself  with 
resources.  He  had  been  strengthening  his  influence  at  Rome 
and  at  Milan,  by  being  the  medium  of  secret  information  and 
indirect  measures  against  the  Frate  and  the  popular  party ; 
he  had  cultivated  more  assiduously  than  ever  the  regard  of 
this  party,  by  showing  subtle  evidence  that  his  political  con- 
victions were  entirely  on  their  side  ;  and  all  the  while,  instead 
of  withdrawing  his  agency  from  the  Mediceans,  he  had  sought 
to  be  more  actively  employed  and  exclusively  trusted  by 
them.  It  was  easy  to  him  to  keep  up  this  triple  game.  The 
jDrinciple  of  duplicity  admitted  by  the  Mediceans  on  their 
own  behalf  deprived  them  of  any  standard  by  which  they 
could  measure  the  trustworthiness  of  a  colleague  who  had  not, 
like  themselves,  hereditary  interests,  alliances,  and  prejudices 
which  were  intensely  Medicean.  In  their  minds,  to  deceive 
the  opposite  party  was  fair  stratagem  ;  to  deceive  their  own 
party  was  a  baseness  to  wliich  they  felt  no  temptation  ;  and 
in  using  Tito^s  facile  ability,  they  were  not  keenly  awake  to 
the  fact  that  the  absence  of  traditional  attachments  which 
made  him  a  convenient  agent  was  also  the  absence  of  what 
among  themselves  was  the  chief  guarantee  of  mutual  honour. 
Again,  the  Roman  and  Milanese  friends  of  the  aristocratic 


WHY   TITO   WAS   SAFE  247 

party,  or  Arrabbiati,  wlio  were  the  bitterest  enemies  of 
Savouarola,  carried  on  a  system  of  underhand  correspondence 
and  espionage,  in  which  the  deepest  hypocrisy  was  the  best 
service,  and  demanded  the  heaviest  pay ;  so  that  to  suspect 
an  agent  because  he  played  a  part  strongly  would  have  been 
an  absurd  want  of  logic.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Piagnoni 
of  the  popular  party,  who  had  the  directness  that  belongs 
to  energetic  conviction,  were  the  more  inclined  to  credit  Tito 
with  sincerity  in  his  political  adhesion  to  them,  because  he 
affected  no  religious  sympathies. 

By  virtue  of  these  conditions,  tlie  last  three  months  had 
been  a  time  of  flattering  success  to  Tito.  The  result  he 
most  cared  for  was  the  securing  of  a  future  position  for  him- 
self at  Eome  or  at  Milan ;  for  he  had  a  growing  determina- 
tion, when  the  favourable  moment  should  come,  to  quit 
Florence  for  one  of  those  great  capitals  where  life  was  easier, 
and  the  rewards  of  talent  and  learning  were  more  splendid. 
At  present,  the  scale  dipped  in  favour  of  Milan;  and  if 
within  the  year  he  could  render  certain  services  to  Duke 
Ludovico  Sforza,  he  had  the  prospect  of  a  place  at  the 
Milanese  court  which  outweighed  the  advantages  of  Eome. 

The  revelation  of  the  Medicean  conspiracy,  then,  had 
been  a  subject  of  forethought  to  Tito ;  but  he  had  not  been 
able  to  foresee  the  mode  in  which  it  would  be  brought  about. 
The  arrest  of  Lamberto  dell'  Aiitella  with  a  tell-tale  letter  on 
his  person,  and  a  bitter  rancour  against  the  Medici  in  his 
heart,  was  an  incalculable  event.  It  was  not  possible,  in 
spite  of  the  careful  pretexts  with  which  his  agency  had  been 
guarded,  that  Tito  should  escape  implication  :  he  had  never 
expected  this  in  case  of  any  wide  discovery  concerning  the 
Medicean  plots.  But  his  quick  mind  had  soon  traced  out 
the  course  that  would  secure  his  own  safety  with  the  fewest 
unpleasant  concomitants.     It  is  agreeable   to  keep  a  whole 


248  ROMOLA 

skill ;  but  the  skin  still  remains  an  organ  sensitive  to  the 
atmosphere. 

His  reckoning  had  not  deceived  him.  That  night,  before 
he  returned  home,  he  had  secured  the  three  results  for  which 
he  most  cared  :  he  was  to  be  freed  from  all  proceedings  against 
him  on  account  of  complicity  with  the  Mediceans ;  he  was  to 
retain  his  secretaryship  for  another  year,  unless  he  previously 
resigned  it;  and,  lastly,  the  price  by  which  he  had  obtained 
these  guarantees  was  to  be  kept  as  a  State  secret.  The  price 
would  have  been  thought  heavy  by  most  men ;  and  Tito  him- 
self would  rather  not  have  paid  it. 

He  had  applied  himself  first  to  win  the  mind  of  Fran- 
cesco Valori,  who  was  not  only  one  of  the  Ten  under  whom 
he  immediately  held  his  secretaryship,  but  one  of  the  special 
council  appointed  to  investigate  the  evidence  of  the  plot. 
Francesco  Valori,  as  we  have  seen,  was  the  head  of  the 
Piagnoni,  a  man  with  certain  fine  qualities  that  were  not 
incompatible  with  violent  partisanship,  with  an  arrogant 
temper  that  alienated  his  friends,  nor  with  bitter  personal 
animosities,  —  one  of  the  bitterest  being  directed  against 
Bernardo  del  Nero.  To  him,  in  a  brief  private  interview, 
after  obtaining  a  pledge  of  secrecy,  Tito  avowed  his  own 
agency  for  the  Mediceans,  —  an  agency  induced  by  motives 
about  which  he  was  very  frank,  declaring  at  the  same  time 
that  he  had  always  believed  their  efforts  futile,  and  that  he  sin- 
cerely preferred  the  maintenance  of  tlie  popular  government; 
affected  to  confide  to  Valori,  as  a  secret,  his  own  personal 
dislike  for  Bernardo  del  Nero;  and,  after  this  preparation, 
came  to  the  important  statement  that  tliere  was  another 
Medicean  plot,  of  which,  if  he  obtained  certain  conditions 
from  the  government,  he  could,  by  a  journey  to  Siena  and  into 
Eomagna,  where  Piero  de^  Medici  was  again  trying  to  gather 
forces,  obtain  documentary  evidence  to  lay  before  tlie  council. 


WHY  TITO   WAS   SAFE  249 

To  this  end  it  was  essential  that  his  character  as  a  Medicean 
agent  shoukl  be  unshaken  for  all  Mediceans,  and  hence  the 
fact  that  he  had  been  a  source  of  information  to  the  authori- 
ties must  be  wrapped  in  profound  secrecy.  Stilly  some  odour 
of  the  facts  miglit  escape  in  spite  of  precaution,  and  before 
Tito  could  incur  the  unpleasant  consequences  of  acting  against 
his  friends,  he  must  be  assured  of  immunity  from  any  prose- 
cution as  a  Medicean,  and  from  deprivation  of  office  for  a  year 
to  come. 

These  propositions  did  not  sound  in  the  ear  of  Francesco 
Yalori  precisely  as  they  sound  to  us,  Valori's  mind  was  not 
intensely  bent  on  the  estimation  of  I'ito^s  conduct ;  and  it  was 
intensely  bent  on  procuring  an  extreme  sentence  against  the  five 
prisoners.  There  were  sure  to  be  immense  efforts  to  save 
them ;  and  it  was  to  be  wished  (on  public  grounds)  that  the 
evidence  against  them  should  be  of  the  strongest,  so  as  to 
alarm  all  well-affected  men  at  the  dangers  of  clemency.  The 
character  of  legal  proceedings  at  that  time  implied  that  evidence 
was  one  of  those  desirable  things  which  could  only  be  come  at  by 
foul  means.  To  catch  a  few  people  and  torture  them  into  con- 
fessing everybody's  guilt  was  one  step  towards  justice;  and  it 
was  not  always  easy  to  see  the  next,  unless  a  traitor  turned  up. 
Lamberto  dell'  Antella  had  been  tortured  in  aid  of  his  previ- 
ous willingness  to  tell  more  than  lie  knew ;  nevertheless, 
additional  and  stronger  facts  were  desirable,  especially  against 
Bernardo  del  Nero,  who,  so  far  as  appeared  hitherto,  had 
simply  refrained  from  betraying  the  late  plot  after  having 
tried  in  vain  to  discourage  it ;  for  the  welfare  of  Florence 
demanded  that  the  guilt  of  Bernardo  del  liiero  should  be  put 
in  the  strongest  light.  So  Francesco  Valori  zealously  be- 
lieved ;  and  perhaps  he  was  not  himself  aware  that  the  strength 
of  his  zeal  was  determined  by  his  hatred.  He  decided  that 
Tito's  proposition  ought  to  be  accepted,  laid  it  before  his 


250  ROMOLA 

colleagues  without  disclosing  Tito^s  name,  and  won  them  over 
to  his  opinion.  Late  in  the  day,  Tito  was  admitted  to  an 
audience  of  the  Special  Council,  and  produced  a  deep  sensa- 
tion among  them  by  revealing  another  plot  for  insuring  the 
mastery  of  Florence  to  Piero  de'  Medici,  which  was  to  have 
been  carried  into  execution  in  the  middle  of  this  very  month 
of  August.  Documentary  evidence  on  this  subject  would  do 
more  than  anything  else  to  make  the  right  course  clear.  He 
received  a  commission  to  start  for  Siena  by  break  of  day  :  and, 
besides  this,  he  carried  away  with  him  from  the  council  cham- 
ber a  written  guarantee  of  his  immunity  and  of  his  retention 
of  office. 

Among  the  twenty  Florentines  who  bent  their  grave 
eyes  on  Tito,  as  he  stood  gracefully  before  them,  speaking  of 
startling  things  with  easy  periphrasis,  and  with  that  apparently 
unaffected  admission  of  being  actuated  by  motives  short  of 
the  highest,  which  is  often  the  intensest  affectation,  there  were 
several  whose  minds  were  not  too  entirely  preoccupied  to 
pass  a  new  judgment  on  him  in  these  new  circumstances; 
they  silently  concluded  that  this  ingenious  and  serviceable 
Greek  was  in  future  rather  to  be  used  for  public  needs  than 
for  private  intimacy.  Unprincipled  men  were  useful,  en- 
abling those  who  had  more  scruples  to  keep  their  hands  toler- 
ably clean  in  a  world  where  there  was  much  dirty  work  to 
be  done.  Indeed,  it  was  not  clear  to  respectable  Florentine 
brains,  unless  they  held  the  Frate's  extravagant  belief  in  a 
possible  purity  and  loftiness  to  be  striven  for  on  this  earth, 
how  life  was  to  be  carried  on  in  any  department  without 
human  instruments  whom  it  would  not  be  unbecoming  to 
kick  or  to  spit  upon  in  the  act  of  handing  them  their  wages. 
Some  of  these  very  men  who  passed  a  tacit  judgment  on 
Tito  were  shortly  to  be  engaged  in  a  memorable  transaction 
that  could  by  no  means  have  been  carried  through  without 


c   ^   = 

?:    ^    K 

20: 


O         P 

1:1s 


WHY  TITO    WAS   SAFE  251 

the  use  of  an  unscrupulousness  as  decided  as  his ;  but  as 
their  own  bright  poet  Pulci  had  said  for  them,  it  is  one  thing 
to  love  the  fruits  of  treachery,  and  another  thing  to  love 
traitors,  — 

"  II  tradimento  a  molti  place  assai. 
Ma  il  traditore  a  guua  non  piacque  mai." 

The  same  society  has  had  a  gibbet  for  the  murderer  and  a 
gibbet  for  the  martyr,  an  execrating  hiss  for  a  dastardly  act, 
and  as  loud  a  hiss  for  many  a  word  of  generous  truthfulness 
or  just  insight :  a  mixed  condition  of  things  which  is  the 
sign,  not  of  hopeless  confusion,  but  of  struggling  order. 

Tor  Tito  himself,  he  was  not  unaware  that  he  had  sunk 
a  little  in  the  estimate  of  the  men  who  had  accepted  his  ser- 
vices. He  had  that  degree  of  self-contemplation  which  neces- 
sarily accompanies  the  habit  of  acting  on  well-considered 
reasons,  of  whatever  quality ;  and  if  he  could  have  chosen,  he 
would  have  declined  to  see  himself  disapproved  by  men  of  the 
world.  He  had  never  meant  to  be  disapproved;  he  had 
meant  always  to  conduct  himself  so  ably  that  if  he  acted  in 
opposition  to  the  standard  of  other  men  they  should  not  be 
aware  of  it ;  and  the  barrier  between  himself  and  Romola  had 
been  raised  by  the  impossibility  of  such  concealment  with 
her.  He  shrank  from  condemnatory  judgments  as  from  a 
climate  to  which  he  could  not  adapt  himself.  But  things 
were  not  so  plastic  in  the  hands  of  cleverness  as  could  be 
wished,  and  events  had  turned  out  inconveniently.  He  had 
really  no  rancour  against  Messer  Bernardo  del  Nero;  he 
had  a  personal  liking  for  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni  and  Gian- 
nozzo  Pucci.  He  had  served  them  very  ably,  and  in  such  a 
way  that  if  their  party  had  been  winners  he  would  have  mer- 
ited high  reward ;  but  was  he  to  relinquish  all  the  agreeable 
fruits  of  life  because  their  party  had  failed  ?      llis  protler  of 


252  ROMOLA 

a  little  additional  proof  against  them  would  probably  have 
no  influence  on  their  fate ;  in  fact^  he  felt  convinced  tlusy 
would  escape  any  extreme  consequences ;  but  if  he  had  not 
given  it,  his  own  fortunes,  which  made  a  promising  fabric, 
would  have  been  utterly  ruined.  And  what  motive  could  any 
man  really  have,  except  his  own  interest  ?  riorentines  whose 
passions  were  engaged  in  their  petty  and  precarious  political 
schemes  might  have  no  self-interest  separable  from  family 
pride  and  tenacity  in  old  hatreds  and  attachments ;  a  mod- 
ern simpleton  who  swallowed  whole  one  of  the  old  systems 
of  philosophy,  and  took  the  indigestion  it  occasioned  for  the 
siffns  of  a  divine  afflux  or  the  voice  of  an  inward  monitor 
might  sec  his  interest  in  a  form  of  self-conceit  whicli  he 
called  self-rewarding  virtue;  fanatics  wlio  believed  in  the 
coming  Scourge  and  Eenovation  might  see  their  own  interest 
in  a  future  palm-branch  and  white  robe  :  but  no  man  of  clear 
intellect  allowed  his  course  to  be  determined  by  such  puerile 
impulses  or  questionable  inward  fumes.  Did  not  Pontanus, 
poet  and  philosopher  of  unrivalled  Latinity,  mate  the  finest 
])ossible  oration  at  Naples  to  welcome  the  French  king,  who 
had  come  to  dethrone  the  learned  orator's  royal  friend  and 
patron  ?  and  still  Pontanus  held  up  his  head  and  prospered. 
Men  did  not  really  care  about  these  things,  except  when  their 
personal  spleen  was  touched.  It  was  weakness  only  that 
was  despised  ;  power  of  any  sort  carried  its  immunity ;  and 
no  man,  unless  by  very  rare  good  fortune,  could  mount  high 
in  the  world  without  incurring  a  few  unpleasant  necessities 
which  laid  him  open  to  enmity,  and  perhaps  to  a  little  hiss- 
ing, when  enmity  wanted  a  pretext. 

It  was  a  faint  prognostic  of  that  hissing,  gathered 
by  Tito  from  certain  indications  when  he  was  before  the 
council,  which  gave  his  present  conduct  the  character  of  an 
epoch  to  him,  and  made  him  dwell  on  it  with  argumentative 


I 


WHY   TITO   WAS   SAFE  253 

vindication.  It  was  not  that  he  was  taking  a  deeper  step  in 
wrong-doing,  for  it  was  not  possible  that  he  shouhl  feel  any 
tie  to  the  Mediceans  to  be  stronger  than  the  tie  to  his  father; 
but  his  conduct  to  his  father  had  been  hidden  by  successful 
lying:  his  present  act  did  not  admit  of  total  concealment, 
— •  in  its  very  nature  it  was  a  revelation.  And  Tito  winced 
under  his  new  liability  to  disesteem. 

Well !  a  little  patience,  and  in  another  year,  or  perhaps 
in  half  a  year,  he  might  turn  his  back  on  these  hard,  eager 
Florentines,  with  their  futile  quarrels  and  sinking  fortunes. 
His  brilliant  success  at  Florence  had  had  some  ugly  flaws  in 
it :  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  wrong  woman,  and  Bal- 
dassarre  had  come  back  under  incalculable  circumstances. 
But  as  Tito  galloped  with  a  loose  rein  towards  Siena,  he  saw 
a  future  before  him  in  which  he  would  no  longer  be  haunted 
by  those  mistakes.  He  had  much  money  safe  out  of  Flor- 
ence already  ;  he  was  in  the  fresh  ripeness  of  eight-and-twenty ; 
he  was  conscious  of  well-tried  skill.  Could  he  not  strip. him- 
self of  the  past,  as  of  rehearsal  clothing,  and  throw  away  the 
old  bundle,  to  robe  himself  for  the  real  scene  ? 

It  did  not  enter  into  Tito^s  meditations  on  the  future, 
that,  on  issuing  from  the  council  chamber  and  descending  tlie 
stairs,  he  had  brushed  against  a  man  whose  face  he  had  not 
stayed  to  recognize  in  the  lamplight.  The  man  was  Ser 
Ceccone,  —  also  willing  to  serve  tlie  State  by  giving  infor- 
mation against  unsuccessful  employers. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

A    FINAL   UNDERSTANDING 

TITO  soon  returned  from  Siena,  but  almost  immedi- 
ately set  out  on  another  journey,  from  which  he  did 
not  return  till  the  17th  of  August.  Nearly  a  fort- 
night had  passed  since  the  arrest  of  the  accused,  and  still 
they  were  in  prison,  still  their  fate  was  uncertain.  Romola 
had  felt  during  this  interval  as  if  all  cares  were  suspended 
for  her,  other  than  watching  the  fluctuating  probabilities 
concerning  that  fate.  Sometimes  they  seemed  strongly  in 
favour  of  the  prisoners ;  for  the  chances  of  effective  interest 
on  their  behalf  were  heightened  by  delay,  and  an  indefinite 
prospect  of  delay  was  opened  by  the  reluctance  of  all  persons 
in  authority  to  incur  the  odium  attendant  on  any  decision. 
On  the  one  side  there  was  a  loud  cry  that  the  Eepublic  was 
in  danger,  and  that  lenity  to  the  prisoners  would  be  the  sig- 
nal of  attack  for  all  its  enemies ;  on  the  other,  there  was  a 
certainty  that  a  sentence  of  death  and  confiscation  of  property 
passed  on  five  citizens  of  distinguished  name,  would  entail  the 
rancorous  hatred  of  their  relatives  on  all  who  were  conspicu- 
ously instrumental  to  such  a  sentence. 

The'  final  judgment  properly  lay  with  the  Eight,  who 
presided  over  the  administration  of  criminal  justice  ;  and  the 
sentence  dej^ended  on  a  majority  of  six  votes.  But  the  Eight 
shrank  from  their  onerous  responsibility,  and  asked  in  this 
exceptional  case  to  have  it  shared  by  the  Signoria  (or  the 
Gonfaloniere  and  the  eight  Priors).  The  Signoria  in  its  turn 
shrugged  its  shoulders,  and  proposed  the  appeal  to  the  Great 


A   FINAL   UNDERSTANDING  255 

Council.  For^  according  to  a  law  passed  by  the  earnest  per- 
suasion of  Savonarola  nearly  three  years  before^  whenever  a 
citizen  was  condemned  to  death  by  the  fatal  six  votes  (called 
the  seifave  or  six  beans,  beans  being  in  more  senses  than  one 
the  political  pulse  of  Florence),  he  had  the  right  of  appealing 
from  that  sentence  to  the  Great  Council. 

But  in  this  stage  of  the  business,  the  friends  of  the  ac- 
cused resisted  the  appeal,  determined  chiefly  by  the  wish  to 
gain  delay ;  and,  in  fact,  strict  legality  required  that  sentence 
should  have  been  passed  prior  to  the  appeal.  Their  resistance 
prevailed,  and  a  middle  course  was  taken ;  the  sentence  was 
referred  to  a  large  assembly  convened  on  the  17th,  consisting 
of  all  the  higher  magistracies,  the  smaller  council  or  Senate 
of  Eighty,  and  a  select  number  of  citizens. 

On  this  day  Romola,  with  anxiety  heightened  by  the  pos- 
sibility that  before  its  close  her  godfather^s  fate  might  be  de- 
cided, had  obtained  leave  to  see  him  for  the  second  time,  but 
only  in  the  presence  of  witnesses.  She  had  returned  to  the 
Yia  de'  Bardi  in  company  wdth  her  cousin  Brigida,  still  igno- 
rant whether  the  council  had  come  to  any  decisive  issue ;  and 
Monna  Brigida  had  gone  out  again  to  await  the  momentous 
news  at  the  house  of  a  friend  belonging  to  one  of  the  magis- 
tracies, that  she  might  bring  back  authentic  tidings  as  soon 
as  they  were  to  be  had. 

Romola  had  sunk  on  the  first  seat  in  the  bright  saloon, 
too  much  agitated,  too  sick  at  heart,  to  care  about  her  place, 
or  be  conscious  of  discordance  in  the  objects  that  surrounded 
her.  She  sat  with  her  back  to  the  door,  resting  her  head  on 
her  hands.  It  seemed  a  long  Avhile  since  Monna  Brigida  had 
gone,  and  Romola  was  expecting  her  return.  But  when  the 
door  opened  she  knew  it  was  not  Monna  Brigida  who  entered. 

Since  she  had  parted  from  Tito  on  that  memorable 
night,  she  had  had  no  external  proof  to  warrant  her  belief 


256  llOMOLA 

that  he  had  won  his  safety  by  treachery ;  on  the  contrary,  she 
had  had  evidence  that  he  was  still  trusted  by  the  Mediceans, 
and  was  believed  by  them  to  be  accomplishing  certain  errands 
of  theirs  in  Eomagna,  under  cover  of  fulfilling  a  commission 
of  the  government.  For  the  obscurity  in  which  the  evidence 
concerning  the  conspirators  was  shrouded  allowed  it  to  be 
understood  that  Tito  had  escaped  any  implication. 

But  Romola's  suspicion  was  not  to  be  dissipated :  her 
horror  of  his  conduct  towards  Baldassarre  projected  itself  over 
every  conception  of  his  acts;  it  was  as  if  she  had  seen  him 
committing  a  murder,  and  had  had  a  diseased  impression  ever 
after  that  his  hands  were  covered  with  fresh  blood. 

As  she  heard  his  step  on  the  stone  floor,  a  chill  shudder 
passed  through  her ;  she  could  not  turn  round,  she  could  not 
rise  to  give  any  greeting.  He  did  not  speak,  but  after  an 
instant^s  pause  took  a  scat  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  just 
opposite  to  her.  Then  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him  ; 
but  she  was  mute.  He  did  Jiot  show  any  irritation,  but  said 
coolly,  — 

"  This  meeting  corresponds  with  our  parting,  Romola. 
But  I  understand  that  it  is  a  moment  of  terrible  suspense.  I 
am  come,  however,  if  you  will  listen  to  me,  to  bring  you  the 
relief  of  hope." 

She  started,  and  altered  her  jiosition,  but  looked  at  him 
dubiously . 

"  It  will  not  be  unwelcome  to  you  to  hear  —  even 
tliough  it  is  I  who  tell  it  —  that  the  council  is  prorogued 
till  ^he  21st.  The  Eight  have  been  frightened  at  last  into 
passing  a  sentence  of  condenniation,  but  the  demand  has  now 
been  made  on  behalf  of  the  condemned  for  the  Appeal  to  the 
Great  Council." 

Romola^s  face  lost  its  dubious  expression  ;  she  asked 
eagerly,  — 


A   FINAL   UxNDERSTANDING  257 

'•'  And  when  is  it  to  be  made  ?  " 

"  It  lias  not  yet  been  granted ;  but  it  ma^  be  granted. 
The  Special  Council  is  to  meet  again  on  the  21st  to  deliberate 
whether  the  Appeal  shall  be  allowed  or  not.  In  the  mean 
time  there  is  an  interval  of  three  days,  in  which  chances  may 
occur  in  favour  of  the  prisoners,  —  in  which  interest  may  be 
used  on  their  behalf." 

Romola  started  from  her  seat.  The  colour  had  risen  to 
her  face  like  a  visible  thought,  and  her  hands  trembled.  In 
that  moment  her  feeling  towards  Tito  was  forgotten. 

" Possibly ,''  said  Tito,  also  rising,  "your  own  intention 
may  have  anticipated  what  I  was  going  to  say.  You  are 
thinking  of  the  Prate." 

"  I  am,"  said  Romola,  looking  at  him  with  surprise. 
"  Has  he  done  anything  ?     Is  there  anything  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Only  this.  It  was  Messer  Francesco  Valori's  bitter- 
ness and  violence  which  chiefly  determined  the  course  of 
things  in  tlie  council  to-day.  Half  the  men  who  gave  iu 
their  opinion  against  the  prisoners  were  frightened  into 
it,  and  there  are  numerous  friends  of  Pra  Girolamo  both 
in  this  Special  Council  and  out  of  it  who  are  strongly  op- 
posed to  the  sentence  of  death,  —  Piero  Guicciardini,  for 
example,  who  is  one  member  of  the  Signoria  that  made  the 
stoutest  resistance ;  and  there  is  Giovan  Battista  Ridolfi,  wlio, 
Piagnone  as  he  is,  will  not  lightly  forgive  the  death  of  his 
brother  Niccolb." 

"  But  how  can  the  Appeal  be  denied,"  said  Romola,  in- 
dignantly, "  when  it  is  the  law,  —  when  it  was  one  of  the  chief 
glories  of  the  popular  government  to  have  passed  the  law  ?  " 

"  They  call  this  an  exceptional  case.  Of  course  there  are 
ingenious  arguments,  but  there  is  much  more  of  loud  bluster 
about  the  danger  of  the  Republic.  But,  you  see,  no  opposi- 
tion could  prevent  the  assembly  from  being  prorogued,  and 
VOL.  n.  — 17 


258  ROMOLA 

a  certain  powerful  influence  rightly  applied  during  the  next 
three  days  might  determine  the  wavering  courage  of  those 
who  desire  that  the  Appeal  should  be  granted,  and  might  even 
give  a  check  to  the  headlong  enmity  of  Francesco  Valori.  It 
happens  to  have  come  to  my  knowledge  that  the  Prate  has 
so  far  interfered  as  to  send  a  message  to  him  in  favour  of 
Lorenzo  Tornabuoni.  I  know  you  can  sometimes  have  access 
to  the  Frate :  it  might  at  all  events  be  worth  while  to  use 
your  privilege  uow/^ 

"It  is  truBj"  said  Romola,  with  an  air  of  abstraction. 
"  I  cannot  believe  that  the  Frate  would  approve  denying  the 
Appeal." 

"  I  heard  it  said  by  more  than  one  person  in  the  court 
of  the  Palazzo,  before  I  came  away,  that  it  would  be  to  the 
everlasting  discredit  of  Fra  Girolamo  if  he  allowed  a  gov- 
ernment which  is  almost  entirely  made  up  of  his  party,  to 
deny  the  Appeal,  without  entering  his  protest,  when  he  has 
been  boasting  in  his  books  and  sermons  that  it  was  he  who 
got  the  law  passed.  But  between  ourselves,  with  all  respect 
for  your  Prate's  ability,  my  Eomola,  he  has  got  into  the 
practice  of  preaching  that  form  of  human  sacrifices  called 
killing  tyrants  and  wicked  malcontents,  which  some  of  his 
followers  are  likely  to  think  inconsistent  with  lenity  in  the 
present  case.''^ 

"  I  know,  I  know^,"  said  Eomola,  with  a  look  and  tone 
of  pain.  "  But  he  is  driven  into  those  excesses  of  speech. 
It  used  to  be  different.  I  will  ask  for  an  interview.  I  can- 
not rest  without  it.     I  trust  in  the  greatness  of  his  heart." 

She  was  not  looking  at  Tito ;  her  eyes  were  bent  with  a 
vague  gaze  towards  the  ground,  and  she  had  no  distinct  con- 
sciousness that  the  words  she  heard  came  from  her  husband. 

"Better  lose  no  time,  then,"  said  Tito,  with  unmixed 
suavity,  moving  his  cap  round  in  his  hands  as  if  he  were 


A   FINAL   UNDERSTANDING  259 

about  to  put  it  on  and  depart.  "  And  now,  llomola,  you 
will  jjerliaps  be  able  to  see,  in  spite  of  prejudice,  that  my 
wishes  go  with  yours  in  this  matter.  You  will  not  regard 
the  misfortune  of  my  safety  as  an  offence.'' 

Something  like  an  electric  shock  passed  through  Eom- 
ola  :  it  was  the  full  consciousness  of  her  husband's  presence 
returning  to  her.     She  looked  at  him  without  speaking. 

"' At  least/'  he  added,  in  a  slightly  harder  tone,  "you 
will  endeavour  to  base  our  intercourse  on  some  other  reason- 
ings than  that  because  an  evil  deed  is  possible,  /  have  done 
it.  Am  I  alone  to  be  beyond  the  pale  of  your  extensive 
charity  ?  " 

The  feeling  which  had  been  driven  back  from  Eomola's 
lips  a  fortnight  before  rose  again  with  the  gathered  force  of  a 
tidal  wave.  She  spoke  with  a  decision  which  told  him  that 
she  was  careless  of  consequences. 

"  It  is  too  late,  Tito.  There  is  no  killing  the  suspicion 
that  deceit  has  once  begotten.  And  now  I  know  everything, 
I  know  who  that  old  man  was  :  he  was  your  father,  to  whom 
you  owe  everything,  —  to  whom  you  owe  more  than  if  you 
had  been  his  own  child.  By  the  side  of  that,  it  is  a  small 
thing  that  you  broke  my  trust  and  my  father's.  As  long  as 
you  deny  the  truth  about  that  old  man,  there  is  a  horror  ris- 
ing between  us  :  the  law  that  should  make  us  one  can  never 
be  obeyed.  I  too  am  a  human  being.  I  have  a  soul  of  my 
own  that  abhors  your  actions.  Our  union  is  a  pretence,  — 
as  if  a  perpetual  lie  could  be  a  sacred  marriage." 

Tito  did  not  answer  immediately.  When  he  did  speak 
it  was  with  a  calculated  caution  that  was  stimulated  by  alarm. 

"  And  you  mean  to  carry  out  that  independence  by 
quitting  me,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  I  desire  to  quit  you,"  said  Tlomola,  impetuously. 

"And  supposing  I  do  not  submit  to  part  with  what  the 


S60  ROMOLA 

law  gives  me  some  security  for  retaining  ?  You  will  then,  of 
course,  proclaim  your  reasons  in  the  ear  of  all  Florence.  You 
will  bring  forward  your  mad  assassin,  who  is  doubtless  ready  to 
obey  your  call,  and  you  will  tell  the  world  that  you  believe  his 
testimony  because  he  is  so  rational  as  to  desire  to  assassinate 
me.  You  will  first  inform  the  Signoria  that  I  am  a  Medicean 
conspirator,  and  then  you  will  inform  the  Mediceans  that  I 
have  betrayed  them,  and  in  both  cases  you  will  offer  the  ex- 
cellent proof  that  you  believe  me  capable  in  general  of  every- 
thing bad.  It  will  certainly  be  a  striking  position  for  a  wife 
to  adopt.  And  if,  on  such  evidence,  you  succeed  in  holding 
me  up  to  infamy,  you  will  have  surpassed  all  the  heroines  of 
the  Greek  drama/"* 

He  paused  a  moment,  but  she  stood  mute.  He  went  on 
with  the  sense  of  mastery. 

"  I  believe  you  have  no  other  grievance  against  me,  — 
except  that  I  have  failed  in  fulfilling  some  lofty  indefinite 
conditions  on  which  you  gave  me  your  wifely  affection,  so 
that,  by  withdrawing  it,  you  have  gradually  reduced  me  to  the 
careful  supply  of  your  wants  as  a  fair  Piagnone  of  high  condi- 
tion and  liberal  charities.  I  think  your  success  in  gibbeting 
me  is  not  certain.  But  doubtless  you  would  begin  by  winning 
tlie  ear  of  ]\Iesser  Bernardo  del  Nero  ?  " 

"  Why  do  I  speak  of  anything  ?  ^^  cried  Romola,  in 
anguish,  sinking  on  her  chair  again.  ^'  It  is  hateful  in  me 
to  be  thinking  of  myself.''^ 

She  did  not  notice  when  Tito  left  the  room,  or  know  how 
long  it  was  before  the  door  opened  to  admit  Monna  Brigida. 
But  in  that  instant  she  started  up  and  said,  — 

"  Cousin,  we  must  go  to  San  Marco  directly.  I  must 
see  my  confessorj  Fra  Salvestro.''^ 


I 


The  Palazzo  Spini  as  it  is  now 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

PLEADING 

THE  moruiug  was  in  its  early  brightness  when  Eomola 
was  again  on  her  way  to  San  Marco,  having  obtained 
through  Fra  Salvestro^  the  evening  before,  the  promise 
of  an  interview  with  Era  Girolanio  in  the  chapter-house  of  the 
convent.  The  rigidity  with  which  Savonarola  guarded  his 
life  from  all  the  pretexts  of  calumny  made  such  interviews 
very  rare,  and  whenever  they  were  granted,  they  were  kept 
free  from  any  appearance  of  mystery.  Eor  this  reason  the 
hour  chosen  was  one  at  which  there  were  likely  to  be  other 
visitors  in  the  outer  cloisters  of  San  Marco. 

She  chose  to  pass  tlirough  the  heart  of  the  city,  that  she 
might  notice  the  signs  of  ])ublic  feeling.  Every  loggia,  every 
convenient  corner  of  the  piazza,  every  shop  that  made  a  ren- 
dezvous for  gossips,  was  astir  with  the  excitement  of  gratuitous 
debate ;  a  languishing  trade  tended  to  make  political  discus- 
sion all  the  more  vigorous.  It  was  clear  that  the  parties  for 
and  against  the  death  of  the  conspirators  were  bent  on  making 
the  fullest  use  of  the  three  days^  interval  in  order  to  determine 
the  popular  mood.  Already  handbills  were  in  circulation; 
some  presenting,  in  large  print,  the  alternative  of  justice  on 
the  conspirators  or  ruin  to  the  Republic ;  others  in  ecjually 
large  print  urging  the  observance  of  the  law  and  the  grantir.g 
of  the  Appeal.  Round  these  jutting  islets  of  black  capitals 
there  were  lakes  of  smaller  characters  setting  forth  arguments 
less  necessary  to  be  read  :  for  it  was  an  opinion  entertained 
at  that  time  (in  the  first  flush  of  triumph  at  the  discovery  of 


262  ROMOLA 

printing),  that  there  was  no  argument  more  widely  convincing 
than  question-begging  phrases  in  large  type. 

Romola,  however,  cared  especially  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  arguments  in  smaller  type,  and,  though  obliged  to 
hasten  forward,  she  looked  round  anxiously  as  she  went  tliat 
she  might  miss  no  opportunity  of  securing  copies.  For  a 
long  way  she  saw  none  but  such  as  were  in  the  hands  of  eager 
readers,  or  else  fixed  on  the  walls  from  which  in  some  places 
the  sbirri  were  tearing  them  down.  But  at  last,  passing  be- 
hind San  Giovanni  with  a  quickened  pace  that  she  might 
avoid  the  many  acquaintances  who  frequented  the  piazza,  she 
saw  Bratti  with  a  stock  of  handbills  which  he  appeared  to  be 
exchanging  for  small  coin  with  the  passers-by.  She  was  too 
familiar  with  the  humble  life  of  Florence  for  Bratti  to  be  any 
stranger  to  her,  and  turning  towards  him  she  said,  "  Have  you 
two  sorts  of  handbills,  Bratti  ?     Let  me  have  them  quickly." 

''Two  sorts,"  said  Bratti,  separating  the  wet  sheets  with 
a  slowness  that  tried  E-omola's  patience.  "  There  "s  '  Law  ' 
and  there's 'Justice.'" 

"  Which  sort  do  you  sell  most  of?" 

" '  Justice '  — '  Justice '  goes  tlie  quickest,  —  so  I  raised 
the  price,  and  made  it  two  denari.  But  then  I  bethought  me 
the  '  Law '  was  good  ware,  too,  and  had  as  good  a  right  to  be 
charged  for  as  '  Justice ; '  for  people  set  no  store  by  cheap 
things,  and  if  I  sold  the  '  Law '  at  one  denaro,  I  should  be 
doing  it  a  wrong.  And  I  'm  a  fair  trader.  '  Law  '  or  '  Jus- 
tice,' it 's  all  one  to  me  ;  they  're  good  wares.  I  get  'em  both 
for  nothing,  and  I  sell  'em  at  a  fair  profit.  But  you  '11  want 
more  than  one  of  a  sort  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  here 's  a  white  quattrino  for  the  two,"  said 
Romola,  folding  up  the  bills  and  hurrying  away. 

She  was  soon  in  the  outer  cloisters  of  San  Marco,  where 
Fra  Salvestro  was  awaiting  her  under  the  cloister,  but  did  not 


PLEADING  263 

notice  the  approach  of  her  light  step.  He  was  chatting, 
according  to  his  habit,  with  lay  visitors ;  for  under  the  aus- 
pices of  a  government  friendly  to  the  Frate,  tlie  timidity  about 
frequenting  San  Marco,  which  had  followed  on  the  first  shock 
of  the  Excommunication,  had  been  gradually  giving  wny.  In 
one  of  these  lay  visitors  she  recognized  a  well-known  satellite 
of  Francesco  Valori,  named  Andrea  Cambini,  who  was  nar- 
rating or  expounding  with  emphatic  gesticulation,  while  Fra 
Salvestro  was  listening  with  that  air  of  trivial  curiosity  which 
tells  that  the  listener  cares  very  much  about  news  and  very 
little  about  its  quality.  This  characteristic  of  her  confessor, 
which  was  always  repulsive  to  Eomola,  was  made  exasperating 
to  her  at  this  moment  by  the  certainty  she  gathered,  from  the 
disjointed  words  which  reached  her  ear,  that  Cambini  was 
narrating  something  relative  to  the  fate  of  the  conspirators. 
She  chose  not  to  approach  the  group,  but  as  soon  as  she  saw 
that  she  had  arrested  Fra  Salvestro's  attention,  she  turned 
towards  the  door  of  the  chapter-house,  while  he,  making 
a  sign  of  approval,  disappeared  within  the  inner  cloister. 
A  lay  Brother  stood  ready  to  open  the  door  of  the  chapter-liouse 
for  her,  and  closed  it  behind  her  as  she  entered. 

Once  more  looked  at  by  those  sad  frescoed  figures  whicli 
had  seemed  to  be  mourning  with  her  at  the  death  of  her 
brother  Dino,  it  was  inevitable  that  something  of  that  scene 
should  come  back  to  her ;  but  the  intense  occupation  of  her 
mind  with  the  present  made  the  remembrance  less  a  retro- 
spect than  an  indistinct  recurrence  of  impressions  which 
blended  themselves  with  her  agitating  fears,  as  if  her  actual 
anxiety  were  a  revival  of  the  strong  yearning  she  had  once 
before  brought  to  this  spot  —  to  be  repelled  by  marble  rigid- 
ity. She  gave  no  space  for  the  remembrance  to  become  more 
definite,  for  she  at  once  opened  the  handbills,  thinking  she 
should  perhaps  be  able  to  read  them  in  the  interval  before 


264  ROMOLA 

Pra  Girolamo  appeared.  But  by  the  time  she  had  read  to 
the  end  of  the  one  that  recommended  the  observance  of  the 
law,  the  door  was  opening,  and  doubling  up  the  papers  she 
stood  expectant. 

When  the  Frate  had  entered  she  knelt,  according  to  the 
usual  practice  of  those  who  saw  him  in  private ;  but  as  soon 
as  he  had  uttered  a  benedictory  greeting,  she  rose  and  stood 
opposite  to  him  at  a  few  yards'  distance.  Owing  to  his  se- 
clusion since  he  had  been  excommunicated,  it  had  been  an 
unusually  long  while  since  she  had  seen  him,  and  the  late 
months  had  visibly  deepened  in  his  face  the  marks  of  over- 
taxed mental  activity  and  bodily  severities ;  and  yet  Romola 
was  not  so  conscious  of  this  change  as  of  another,  which  was 
less  definable.  Was  it  that  the  expression  of  serene  elevation 
and  pure  human  fellowship  which  had  once  moved  her  was 
no  longer  present  in  the  same  force,  or  was  it  that  the  sense 
of  his  being  divided  from  her  in  her  feeling  about  her 
godfather  roused  the  slumbering  sources  of  alienation,  and 
marred  her  own  vision  ?  Perhaps  both  causes  were  at  work. 
Our  relations  with  our  fellow-men  are  most  often  determined 
by  coincident  currents  of  that  sort ;  the  inexcusable  word  or 
deed  seldom  comes  until  after  affection  or  reverence  has  been 
already  enfeebled  by  the  strain  of  repeated  excuses. 

It  was  true  that  Savonarola's  glance  at  Romola  had 
some  of  that  hardness  which  is  caused  by  an  egotistic  pre- 
possession. He  divined  that  the  interview  she  had  sought 
was  to  turn  on  the  fate  of  the  conspirators,  a  subject  on 
which  he  had  already  had  to  quell  inner  voices  that  might 
become  loud  again  when  encouraged  from  without.  Seated  in 
his  cell,  correcting  tlie  sheets  of  his  "Triumph  of  the  Cross,'' 
it  was  easier  to  repose  on  a  resohation  of  neutraHty. 

"  It  is  a  question  of  moment,  doubtless,  on  wliich  you 
wished  to  see  me,  my  daughter,"  he  began,  in  a  tone  which 


PLEADING  265 

was  gentle  rather  from  self-control  than  from  immediate  in- 
clination. "  I  know  you  are  not  wont  to  lay  stress  on  small 
matters/^ 

"Father,  you  know  what  it  is  before  I  tell  you/'  said 
Eiomola,  forgetting  everything  else  as  soon  as  she  began  to 
pour  forth  her  plea.  "  You  know  what  I  am  caring  for,  — 
it  is  for  the  life  of  the  old  man  I  love  best  in  the  world. 
The  thought  of  liim  has  gone  together  with  the  thought  of 
my  fatlier  as  long  as  I  remember  the  daylight.  That  is  my 
warrant  for  coming  to  you,  even  if  my  coming  should  have 
been  needless.  Perhaps  it  is  :  perhaps  you  have  already  de- 
termined that  your  power  over  the  hearts  of  men  shall  be 
used  to  prevent  them  from  denying  to  Florentines  a  right 
which  you  yourself  helped  to  earn  for  them." 

"  I  meddle  not  with  the  functions  of  State,  my  daughter,^' 
said  Fra  Girolamo,  strongly  disinclined  to  reopen  externally 
a  debate  which  he  had  already  gone  through  inwardly.  "  I 
have  preached  and  laboured  that  Florence  should  have  a  good 
government,  for  a  good  government  is  needful  to  the  perfect- 
ing of  the  Christian  life;  but  I  keep  away  my  hands  from 
particular  affairs  which  it  is  the  office  of  experienced  citizens 
to  administer.''^ 

"  Surely,  father  —  "  Romola  broke  off.  She  had  ut- 
tered this  first  word  almost  impetuously,  but  she  was  checked 
by  the  counter-agitation  of  feeling  herself  in  an  attitude  of 
remonstrance  towards  the  man  who  had  been  the  source  of 
guidance  and  strength  to  her.  In  the  act  of  rebelling  she 
was  bruising  her  own  reverence. 

Savonarola  was  too  keen  not  to  divine  something  of  the 
conflict  that  was  arresting  her,  —  too  noble  deliberately  to 
assume  in  calm  speech  that  self -justifying  evasiveness  into 
which  he  was  often  liurried  in  public  by  the  crowding  impulses 
of  the  orator. 


me  ROMOLA 

"  Say  what  is  in  your  heart ;  speak  on,  my  daughter/' 
lie  said,  standing  with  his  arms  laid  one  upon  the  other,  and 
looking  at  her  with  quiet  expectation. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  father,  that  this  matter  is  surely  of 
higher  moment  than  many  about  which  I  have  heard  you 
preach  and  exhort  fervidly.  If  it  belonged  to  you  to  urge 
that  men  condemned  for  offences  against  the  State  should  have 
the  right  to  appeal  to  the  Great  Council  —  if  — "  Eomola 
was  getting  eager  again  —  "  if  you  count  it  a  glory  to  have 
won  that  right  for  them,  can  it  less  belong  to  you  to  declare 
yourself  against  the  right  being  denied  to  almost  the  first  men 
who  need  it?  Surely  that  touches  the  Christian  life  more 
closely  than  wliether  you  knew  beforehand  that  the  Dauphin 
would  die,  or  whether  Pisa  will  be  conquered.'" 

There  was  a  subtle  movement,  like  a  subdued  sign  of 
pain,  in  Savonarola's  strong  lips,  before  he  began  to  speak. 

"  My  daughter,  1  speak  as  it  is  given  me  to  speak,  —  I 
am  not  master  of  the  times  when  I  may  become  the  vehicle  of 
knowledge  beyond  the  common  lights  of  men.  In  this  case  I 
have  no  illumination  beyond  what  wisdom  may  give  to  those 
who  are  charged  with  the  safety  to  the  State.  As  to  the  law  of 
Appeal  against  the  Six  Votes,  I  laboured  to  have  it  passed,  in 
order  that  no  Florentine  should  be  subject  to  loss  of  life  and 
goods  through  the  private  hatred  of  a  few  who  might  happen 
to  be  in  power;  but  these  five  men,  who  have  desired  to 
overthrow  a  free  government  and  restore  a  corrupt  tyrant, 
have  been  condemned  with  the  assent  of  a  large  assembly  of 
their  fellow-citizens.  They  refused  at  first  to  have  their  cause 
brought  before  the  Great  Council.  They  have  lost  the  right 
to  the  appeal.'' 

"  How  can  they  have  lost  it  ?  "  said  Romola.  "  It  is  the 
right  to  appeal  against  condemnation,  and  they  have  never 
been  condemned  till  now ;  and,  forgive  me,  father,  it  is  private 


One  of  the  streets  in  the  heart  of  the  city 


From  tiled  rate  i  It  <j  by  Buret  in  the  Ufizi  Gallery 


PLEADING  2CT 

hatred  that  would  deny  them  the  appeal ;  it  is  the  violence  of 
the  few  that  frightens  others;  else  why  was  the  assembly 
divided  again  directly  after  it  had  seemed  to  agree?  And 
if  anything  weighs  against  the  observance  of  the  law,  let  this 
weigh /(?;•  it,  —  this,  that  you  used  to  preach  more  earnestly 
than  all  else,  that  there  should  be  no  place  given  to  hatred 
and  bloodshed  because  of  these  party  strifes,  so  that  private 
ill-will  should  not  find  its  opportunities  in  public  acts. 
Father,  you  k)iow  that  there  is  private  hatred  concerned  here : 
will  it  not  dishonour  you  not  to  have  interposed  on  the  side  of 
mercy,  when  there  are  many  who  hold  that  it  is  also  the  side 
of  law  and  justice  ?  " 

"  My  daughter,^^  said  Fra  Girolamo,  with  more  visible 
emotion  than  before,  "there  is  a  mercy  which  is  weakness, 
and  even  treason  against  the  common  good.  The  safety  of 
Florence,  which  means  even  more  than  the  welfare  of  Floren- 
tines, now  demands  severity,  as  it  once  demanded  mercy.  It 
is  not  only  for  a  past  plot  that  these  men  are  condemned,  but 
also  for  a  plot  which  has  not  yet  been  executed ;  and  the  devices 
that  were  leading  to  its  execution  are  not  put  an  end  to  :  the 
tyrant  is  still  gathering  his  forces  in  Eomagna,  and  the  ene- 
mies of  Florence,  who  sit  in  the  highest  places  of  Italy,  are 
ready  to  hurl  any  stone  that  will  crush  her.^' 

"  What  plot  ?  "  said  Romola,  reddening,  and  trembling 
with  alarmed  surprise. 

"  You  carry  papers  in  your  hand,  I  see,"  said  Fra  Giro- 
lamo, pointing  to  the  handbills.  "  One  of  them  will,  perhaps, 
tell  you  that  the  government  has  had  new  information." 

Komola  hastily  opened  the  handbill  she  had  not  yet 
read,  and  saw  that  the  government  had  now  positive  evidence 
of  a  second  plot,  which  was  to  have  been  carried  out  in  this 
August  time.  To  her  mind  it  was  like  reading  a  confirma- 
tion that  Tito  had  won  his  safety  by  foul  means ;  his  pretence 


268  ROMOLA 

of  wishing  that  the  Erate  should  exert  lifmself  on  behalf  of 
the  condemned  only  helped  the  wretchtul  conviction.  She 
crushed  up  the  paper  in  her  hand,  and,  turning  to  Savonarola, 
she  said,  with  new  passion,  "  Father,  what  safety  can  there  be 
for  Florence  when  the  worst  man  can  always  escape  ?  And," 
she  went  on,  a  sudden  flash  of  remembrance  coming  from 
the  thought  about  her  husband,  "  have  not  you  yourself  en- 
couraged this  deception  which  corrupts  the  life  of  Florence, 
by  wanting  more  favour  to  be  shown  to  Lorenzo  Torna- 
buoni,  who  has  worn  two  faces,  and  flattered  you  with  a 
show  of  affection,  when  my  godfather  has  always  been  honest  ? 
Ask  all  Florence  who  of  those  five  men  has  the  truest  lieart,  and 
there  will  not  be  many  who  will  name  any  other  name  than 
Bernardo  del  Nero.  You  did  interpose  with  Francesco  Valori 
for  the  sake  of  one  prisoner :  you  have  not  then  been  neutral; 
and  you  know  that  your  word  will  be  powerful." 

"  I  do  not  desire  the  death  of  Bernardo,"  said  Savona- 
rola, colouring  deeply.  "  It  would  be  enough  if  he  were  sent 
out  of  the  city." 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  speak  to  save  an  old  man  of 
seventy-five  from  dying  a  death  of  ignominy,  —  to  give  him  at 
least  the  fair  chances  of  the  law?"  burst  out  Romola,  the 
impetuosity  of  her  nature  so  roused  that  she  forgot  every- 
thing but  her  indignation.  "It  is  not  that  you  feel  bound  to 
be  neutral ;  else  why  did  you  speak  for  Lorenzo  Tornabuoni  ? 
You  spoke  for  him  because  he  is  more  friendly  to  San  Marco ; 
my  godfather  feigns  no  friendship.  It  is  not,  then,  as  a  Me- 
dicean  that  my  godfather  is  to  die;  it  is  as  a  man  you  have 
no  love  for !  " 

When  E/omola  paused,  with  cheeks  glowing  and  with 
quivering  lips,  there  was  dead  silence.  As  she  saw  Era 
Girolamo  standing  motionless  before  her,  she  seemed  to  her- 
self to  be  hearing  her  own  words  over  again,  —  words  that  in 


PLEADING  269 

this  echo  of  consciousness  were  in  strange,  painful  dissonance 
witli  the  memories  that  made  part  of  his  presence  to  her. 
The  moments  of  silence  were  expanded  by  gathering  compunc- 
tion and  self-doubt.  She  had  committed  sacrilege  in  her 
passion.  And  even  the  sense  that  she  could  retract  nothing 
of  her  plea,  that  her  mind  could  not  submit  itself  to  Savoiia- 
rola^'s  negative,  made  it  tlie  more  needful  to  her  to  satisfy  those 
reverential  memories.  With  a  suddeu  movement  towards  him 
she  said,  — 

"Forgive  me,  father;  it  is  pain  to  me  to  have  spoken 
those  words,  —  yet  I  cannot  help  speaking.  I  am  little  and 
feeble  compared  with  you;  you  brought  me  light  and 
strength.  But  I  submitted  because  I  felt  the  proffered 
strength,  —  because  I  saw  the  light.  Now  I  cannot  see  it. 
Father,  you  yourself  declare  that  there  comes  a  moment  when 
the  soul  must  have  no  guide  but  the  voice  within  it,  to  tell 
whether  the  consecrated  thing  has  sacred  virtue.  And  there- 
fore I  must  speak." 

Savonarola  had  that  readily  roused  resentment  towards 
opposition,  hardly  separable  from  a  power-loving  and  power- 
ful nature,  accustomed  to  seek  great  ends  that  cast  a  reflected 
grandeur  on  the  means  by  which  they  are  sought.  His 
sermons  have  much  of  tliat  red  flame  in  them.  And  if  he 
had  been  a  meaner  man,  his  susceptibility  might  have  shown 
itself  in  irritation  at  Romola's  accusatory  freedom,  which  was 
in  strong  contrast  with  the  deference  lie  habitually  received 
from  his  disciples.  But  at  this  moment  such  feelings  were 
nullified  by  that  hard  struggle  wliich  made  half  the  tragedy 
of  his  life,  —  the  struggle  of  a  mind  possessed  by  a  never- 
silent  hunger  after  purity  and  simplicity,  yet  caught  in  a 
tangle  of  egoistic  demands,  false  ideas,  and  difficult  on t ward 
conditions,  that  made  simplicity  impossible.  Keenly  alive  to 
all  the  suggestions  of  lloniola's  remonstrating  words,  he  was 


270  ROMOLA 

rapidly  surveyings  as  he  had  done  before^  the  courses  of 
action  that  were  open  to  him,  and  their  probable  results. 
But  it  was  a  question  on  which  arguments  could  seem  deci- 
sive only  in  proportion  as  they  were  charged  with  feeling, 
and  he  had  received  no  imjjulse  that  could  alter  his  bias. 
He  looked  at  Romola  and  said, — 

'^You  have  full  pardon  for  your  frankness,  my  daughter. 
You  speak,  I  know,  out  of  the  fulness  of  your  family  affec- 
tions. But  these  affections  must  give  way  to  the  needs  of  the 
Republic.  If  those  men  who  have  a  close  acquaintance  with 
the  affairs  of  the  State  believe,  as  I  understand  they  do,  that 
the  public  safety  requires  the  extreme  punishment  of  the  law 
to  fall  on  the  five  conspirators,  I  cannot  control  their  opinion, 
seeing  that  I  stand  aloof  from  such  affairs." 

"Then  you  desire  that  they  should  die?  You  desire 
that  the  Appeal  should  be  denied  them  ?  "  said  Romola,  feel- 
ing anew  repelled  by  a  vindication  which  seemed  to  her  to 
have  the  nature  of  a  subterfuge. 

"  I  have  said  that  I  do  not  desire  their  death." 

"  Then,"  said  Romola,  her  indignation  rising  again, 
"  you  can  be  indifferent  that  Florentines  should  inflict  death 
which  you  do  not  desire,  when  you  might  have  protested 
against  it,  —  when  you  might  have  helped  to  hinder  it,  by 
urging  the  observance  of  a  law  which  you  held  it  good  to  get 
passed.  Father,  you  used  not  to  stand  aloof :  you  used  not 
to  shrink  from  protesting.  Do  not  say  you  cannot  protest 
where  the  lives  of  men  are  concerned ;  say  rather,  you  desire 
their  death.  Say  rather,  you  hold  it  good  for  Florence 
that  there  shall  be  more  blood  and  more  hatred.  Will  the 
death  of  five  Mediceans  put  an  end  to  parties  in  Florence? 
Will  the  death  of  a  noble  old  man  like  Bernardo  del  Nero 
save  a  city  that  holds  such  men  as  Dolfo  Spini  ? " 

"My  daughter,  it  is  enough.     The  cause  of  freedom, 


PLEADING  271 

which  is  the  cause  of  GotVs  kingdom  upon  earth,  is  often 
most  injured  by  the  enemies  who  carry  within  them  the  power 
of  certain  human  virtues.  The  wickedest  man  is  often  not 
the  most  insurmountable  obstacle  to  the  triumph  of  good." 

"Then  why  do  you  say  again,  that  you  do  not  desire 
my  godfather^s  death  ?  "  said  Eomola,  in  mingled  anger  and 
despair.  "  Rather,  you  hold  it  the  more  needful  he  should 
die  because  he  is  the  better  man.  I  cannot  unravel  your 
tlioughts,  father;  I  cannot  hear  the  real  voice  of  your 
judgment  and  conscience." 

There  was  a  moment^s  pause.  Then  Savonarola  said, 
with  keener  emotion  than  he  had  yet  shown,  — 

"  Be  thankful,  my  daughter,  if  your  own  soul  has  been 
spared  perplexity ;  and  judge  not  those  to  whom  a  harder  lot 
has  been  given.  You  see  one  ground  of  action  in  this  matter. 
I  see  many.  I  have  to  choose  that  which  will  further  the  work 
intrusted  to  me.  The  end  I  seek  is  one  to  which  minor  re- 
spects must  be  sacrificed.  The  death  of  five  men  —  were  they 
less  guilty  than  these  —  is  a  light  matter  weighed  against  the 
withstanding  of  the  vicious  tyrannies  which  stifle  the  life  of 
Italy,  and  foster  the  corruption  of  the  Church ;  a  light 
matter  weighed  against  the  furthering  of  God's  kingdom 
upon  earth,  the  end  for  which  I  live  and  am  willing  myself 
to  die." 

Under  any  other  circumstances,  Romola  would  have  been 
sensitive  to  the  appeal  at  the  beginning  of  Savonarola's  speech  ; 
but  at  this  moment  she  was  so  utterly  in  antagonism  with  him, 
that  what  he  called  perplexity  seemed  to  her  sophistry  and 
doubleness ;  and  as  he  went  on,  his  words  only  fed  that  flame 
of  indignation  which  now  again,  more  fully  than  ever  before, 
lit  up  the  memory  of  all  his  mistakes,  and  made  her  trust  in 
him  seem  to  have  been  a  purblind  delusion.  She  spoke  almost 
with  bitterness. 


272  ROMOLA 

"Do  jou,  then,  know  so  well  what  will  further  the 
coming  of  God's  kingdom,  father,  that  you  will  dare  to 
despise  the  plea  of  mercy,  —  of  justice,  —  of  faithfulness  to 
your  own  teaching?  Has  the  French  king,  then,  brought 
renovation  to  Italy?  Take  care,  father,  lest  your  enemies 
have  some  reason  when  they  say  that  in  your  visions  of  what 
Avill  further  God's  kingdom  you  see  only  what  will  strengthen 
your  own  party." 

"  And  that  is  true  !  "  said  Savonarola,  with  flashing  eyes. 
Roraola's  voice  had  seemed  to  him  in  that  moment  the  voice 
of  his  enemies.  "The  cause  of  my  party  is  the  cause  of 
God's  kingdom." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it !  "  said  Eomola,  her  whole  frame 
sliaken  with  passionate  repugnance.  "  God's  kingdom  is  some- 
thing wider,  —  else,  let  me  stand  outside  it  with  the  beings 
that  I  love." 

The  two  faces  were  lit  up,  each  with  an  opposite  emotion, 
each  with  an  opposite  certitude.  Further  words  were  impos- 
sible. Eomola  hastily  covered  her  head  and  went  out  in 
silence. 


Ik  the  Church  of  the  Badia 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    SCAFFOLD 

THREE  days  later  the  moon  that  was  just  surmounting 
the  buildings  of  the  piazza  in  front  of  the  Old  Palace 
within  the  hour  of  midnight,  did  not  make  the  usual 
broad  lights  and  shadows  on  the  pavement.  Not  a  hand^s- 
breadth  of  pavement  was  to  be  seen,  but  only  the  heads  of 
an  eager  struggling  multitude.  And  instead  of  that  back- 
ground of  silence  in  which  the  pattering  footsteps  and  buzzing 
voices,  the  lute-thrumming  or  rapid  scampering  of  the  many 
night- wanderers  of  Florence  stood  out  in  obtrusive  distinct- 
ness, there  was  the  background  of  a  roar  from  mingled  shouts 
and  imprecations,  tramplings  and  pushings,  and  accidental 
clashing  of  weapons,  across  which  nothing  was  distinguishable 
but  a  darting  shriek,  or  the  heavy  dropping  toll  of  a  bell. 

Almost  all  who  could  call  themselves  the  public  of  Flor- 
ence were  awake  at  that  hour,  and  either  enclosed  within  the 
limits  of  that  piazza  or  struggling  to  enter  it.  Within  the 
palace  were  still  assembled  in  the  council  chamber  all  the  chief 
magistracies,  the  eighty  members  of  the  senate,  and  the  other 
select  citizens  who  had  been  in  hot  debate  through  long  hours 
of  daylight  and  torchlight  whether  the  Appeal  should  he 
granted  or  whether  the  sentence  of  death  should  be  executed 
on  the  prisoners  forthwith,  to  forestall  tlie  dangerous  chances 
of  delay.  And  the  debate  had  been  so  much  like  fierce  quar- 
rel that  the  noise  from  the  council  chamber  had  reached  the 
crowd  outside.  Only  within  the  last  hour  had  the  question 
been   decided  :   the  Signoria  had   remained  divided,  four  of 

VOL.  II. — 18 


274  ROMOLA 

tliem  standing  out  resolutely  for  tlie  Appeal  in  spite  of  the 
strong  argument  that  if  they  did  not  give  way  their  houses 
should  be  sacked,  until  Francesco  Yalori,  in  brief  and  furious 
speech,  made  the  determination  of  his  party  more  ominously 
distinct  by  declaring  that  if  the  Signoria  would  not  defend 
tlie  liberties  of  the  Florentine  people  by  executing  those  five  per- 
fidious citizens,  there  would  not  be  wanting  others  who  would 
take  that  cause  in  hand  to  the  peril  of  all  who  opposed.it.  The 
Plorenthie  Cato  triumphed.  When  the  votes  were  counted 
again,  the  four  obstinate  white  beans  no  longer  appeared ;  the 
whole  nine  were  of  the  fatal  affirmative  black,  deciding  the 
death  of  the  five  prisoners  without  delay,  —  deciding  also, 
only  tacitly  and  with  much  more  delay,  the  death  of  Francesco 
Valori. 

And  now,  while  the  judicial  Eight  were  gone  to  the 
Bargello  to  prej)are  for  the  execution,  the  five  condemned  men 
were  being  led  barefoot  and  in  irons  through  the  midst  of  tlie 
council.  It  was  their  friends  who  had  contrived  this  :  would 
not  Florentines  be  moved  by  the  visible  association  of  such 
cruel  ignominy  witli  two  venerable  men  like  Bernardo  del 
Nero  and  Niccolb  Ridolfi,  who  had  taken  their  bias  long 
before  the  new  order  of  things  had  come  to  make  Medicean- 
ism  retrograde,  —  with  two  brilliant  popular  young  men  like 
Tornabuoni  and  Pucci,  whose  absence  would  be  felt  as  a 
haunting  vacancy  wherever  there  was  a  meeting  of  chief 
Florentines  ?  It  was  useless  :  such  pity  as  could  be  awakened 
now  was  of  that  hopeless  sort  which  leads  not  to  rescue,  but 
to  the  tardier  action  of  revenge. 

While  this  scene  was  passing  upstairs  Romola  stood  be- 
low against  one  of  the  massive  pillars  in  the  court  of  the 
palace,  expecting  the  moment  when  her  godfather  would  ap- 
pear, on  his  way  to  execution.  By  the  use  of  strong  interest 
she  had  gained  permission  to  visit  him  in  the  evening  of  this 


THE  SCAFFOLD  275 

daj;  and  remain  with  him  until  the  result  of  the  council  should 
be  determined.  And  now  she  was  waiting  with  his  confessor 
to  follow  the  guard  that  would  lead  him  to  the  Bargello.  Her 
heart  was  bent  on  clinging  to  the  presence  of  '  he  childless  old 
man  to  the  last  moment,  as  her  father  would  have  done  ;  and  she 
had  over})owered  all  remonstrances.  Giovan  Battista  Kidolfi,  a 
disciple  of  Savonarola,  who  was  going  in  bitterness  to  bcliold 
the  death  of  his  elder  brother  Niccolb,  had  promised  that  she 
should  be  guarded,  and  now  stood  by  her  side. 

Tito,  too,  was  in  the  palace;  but  Romola  had  not  seen 
him.  Since  the  evening  of  the  17th  they  had  avoided  each 
other,  and  Tito  only  knew  by  inference  from  the  report  of  the 
Frate^s  neutrality  that  her  pleading  had  failed.  He  was  now 
surrounded  with  official  and  other  personages,  both  Florentine 
and  foreign,  who  had  been  awaiting  the  issue  of  the  long- 
protracted  council,  maintaining,  except  when  he  was  directly 
addressed,  the  subdued  air  and  grave  silence  of  a  man  whom 
actual  events  are  placing  in  a  painful  state  of  strife  between 
public  and  private  feeling.  When  an  allusion  was  made  to 
his  wife  in  relation  to  those  events,  he  implied  that,  owing  to 
the  violent  excitement  of  her  mind,  the  mere  fact  of  his  con- 
tinuing to  hold  office  under  a  government  concerned  in  her 
godfather's  condemnation,  roused  in  her  a  diseased  hostility 
towards  him  ;  so  that  for  her  sake  he  felt  it  best  not  to  ap- 
jn-oach  her, 

"  Ah,  the  old  Bardi  blood  !  "  said  Cennini,  with  a  shrug. 
"I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  this  business  shakes  her  loose 
from  the  Frate,  as  well  as  some  others  I  could  name." 

"  It  is  excusable  in  a  woman,  wlio  is  doubtless  beautiful, 
since  she  is  tlie  wife  of  Messer  Tito,''  said  a  young  French 
envoy,  smiling  and  bowing  to  Tito,  "  to  think  tliat  her  affec- 
tions must  overrule  the  good  of  the  State,  and  that  nobody  is 
to  be  beheaded  who  is  anybody's  cousin ;  but  such  a  view  is 


276  ROMOLA 

not  to  be  encouraged  in  the  male  population.     It  seems  to 
me  your  Florentine  polity  is  much  weakened  by  it/^ 

"  That  is  true/'  said  Niccolb  Macchiavelli ;  "  but  where 
personal  ties  are  strong,  the  hostilities  they  raise  must  be 
taken  due  account  of.  ]\Iany  of  these  half-way  severities  are 
mere  hot-headed  blundering.  The  only  safe  blows  to  be  in- 
flicted on  men  and  parties  are  the  blows  that  are  too  heavy  to 
be  avenged.'^ 

"  Niccolb/'  said  Cennini,  ^'  there  is  a  clever  wickedness 
in  thy  talk  sometimes  that  makes  me  mistrust  thy  pleasant 
young  face  as  if  it  were  a  mask  of  Satan." 

"  Not  at  all,  my  good  Domenico/'  said  Macchiavelli,  smil- 
ing, and  laying  his  hand  on  the  elder's  shoulder.  "  Satan  was 
a  blunderer,  an  introducer  of  noviia,  who  made  a  stupendous 
failure.  If  he  had  succeeded,  we  should  all  have  been  worship- 
ping him,  and  his  portrait  would  have  been  more  flattered." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Cennini,  "  I  say  not  thy  doctrine  is 
not  too  clever  for  Satan :  I  only  say  it  is  wicked  enough  for 
him." 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Macchiavelli,  "  my  doctrine  is  the 
doctrine  of  all  men  who  seek  an  end  a  little  farther  off  than 
their  own  noses.  Ask  our  Frate,  our  prophet,  how  his  uni- 
versal renovation  is  to  be  brought  about :  he  will  tell  you, 
first,  by  getting  a  free  and  pure  government;  and  since  it 
appears  that  this  cannot  be  done  by  making  all  Florentines 
love  each  other,  it  must  be  done  by  cutting  off"  every  head 
that  happens  to  be  obstinately  in  the  way.  Only  if  a  man 
incurs  odium  by  sanctioning  a  severity  that  is  not  thorough 
enough  to  be  final,  he  commits  a  blunder.  And  something 
like  that  blunder,  I  suspect,  the  Frate  has  committed.  It 
was  an  occasion  on  which  he  might  have  won  some  lustre  by 
exerting  himself  to  maintain  the  Appeal ;  instead  of  that,  he 
has  lost  lustre,  and  has  gained  no  strength." 


THE   SCAFFOLD  277 

Before  any  one  else  could  speak,  there  came  the  ex- 
pected announcement  that  the  prisoners  were  about  to  leave 
the  council  chamber;  and  the  majority  of  those  who  were 
present  hurried  towards  the  door,  intent  on  securing  the 
freest  passage  to  the  Bargello  in  the  rear  of  the  prisoners' 
guard ;  for  the  scene  of  the  execution  was  one  that  drew  alike 
those  who  were  moved  by  the  deepest  passions  and  those  who 
were  moved  by  the  coldest  curiosity. 

Tito  was  one  of  those  who  remained  behind.  He  had 
a  native  repugnance  to  sights  of  death  and  pain,  and  five  days 
ago  whenever  he  had  thought  of  this  execution  as  a  possibil- 
ity he  had  hoped  that  it  would  not  take  place,  and  that  the 
utmost  sentence  would  be  exile :  his  own  safety  demanded  no 
more.  But  now  he  felt  that  it  would  be  a  welcome  guaran- 
tee of  his  security  when  he  had  learned  that  Bernardo  del 
Nero's  head  was  off  the  shoulders.  The  new  knowledge  and 
new  attitude  towards  him  disclosed  by  Eomola  on  the  day  of 
his  return,  had  given  him  a  new  dread  of  the  power  she  pos- 
sessed to  make  his  position  insecure.  If  any  act  of  hers  only 
succeeded  in  making  him  an  object  of  suspicion  and  odium, 
he  foresaw  not  only  frustration,  but  frustration  under  un- 
pleasant circumstances.  Her  belief  in  Baldassarre  had  clearly 
determined  her  wavering  feelings  against  further  submission, 
and  if  her  godfather  lived  she  would  win  him  to  share  her 
belief  without  much  trouble.  Eomola  seemed  more  than 
ever  an  unmanageable  fact  in  his  destiny.  But  if  Bernardo 
del  Nero  were  dead,  the  diflfi.culties  that  would  beset  her  in 
placing  herself  in  oj)position  to  her  husband  would  probably 
be  insurmountable  to  her  shrinking  pride.  Therefore  Tito 
had  felt  easier  when  he  knew  that  the  Eight  had  gone  to  the 
Bargello  to  order  ,the  instant  erection  of  the  scaffold.  Four 
other  men  —  his  intimates  and  confederates  —  were  to  die, 
besides  Bernardo  del  Nero.     But  a  man's  own  safety  is  a  god 


278  ROMOLA 

that  sometimes  mates  very  grim  demands.  Tito  felt  tliem 
to  be  grim :  even  in  the  pursuit  of  what  was  agreeable,  this 
paradoxical  life  forced  upon  him  the  desire  for  what  was  dis- 
agreeable. But  he  had  had  other  experience  of  this  sort,  and 
as  he  heard  through  the  open  doorway  tlic  shuffle  of  many 
feet  and  the  clanking  of  metal  on  the  stairs,  he  was  able  to 
answer  the  questions  of  the  young  French  envoy  without 
showing  signs  of  any  other  feeling  than  that  of  sad  resigna- 
tion to  State  necessities. 

Those  sounds  fell  on  Romola  as  if  her  power  of  hearing 
had  been  exalted  along  with  every  other  sensibility  of  her 
nature.  She  needed  no  arm  to  support  her;  she  shed  no 
tears.  She  felt  that  intensity  of  life  which  seems  to  tran- 
scend both  grief  and  joy,  —  in  which  the  mind  seems  to  itself 
akin  to  elder  forces  that  wrought  out  existence  before  the 
birth  of  pleasure  and  pain.  Since  her  godfather's  fate  had 
been  decided,  the  previous  struggle  of  feeling  in  her  had 
given  way  to  an  identification  of  herself  with  him  in  these 
supreme  moments :  she  was  inwardly  asserting  for  him  that 
if  he  suffered  the  punishment  of  treason,  he  did  not  deserve 
the  name  of  traitor :  he  was  the  victim  to  a  collision  between 
two  kinds  of  faithfulness.  It  was  not  given  him  to  die  for 
the  noblest  cause,  and  yet  he  died  because  of  his  nobleness. 
He  might  have  been  a  meaner  man  and  found  it  easier  not 
to  incur  this  guilt.  Eomola  was  feeling  the  full  force  of  that 
sympathy  with  the  individual  lot  that  is  continually  opposing 
itself  to  the  formulae  by  which  actions  and  parties  are  judged. 
She  was  treading  the  way  with  her  second  father  to  the  scaf- 
fold, and  nerving  herself  to  defy  ignominy  by  the  conscious- 
ness that  it  was  not  deserved. 

The  way  was  fenced  in  by  three  hundred  armed  men, 
who  had  been  placed  as  a  guard  by  the  orders  of  Francesco 
Valori;  for  among  the  apparent  contradictious  that  belonged 


In  the  Church  of  the  Badia,  on  the  step 
i  of  the  altar,  in  front  of  FiMppino  Lippi's 

Virgin  appearing  to  St.  Bernard 


THE   SCAFFOLD  279 

to  this  event,  not  the  least  striking  was  the  alleged  alarm  on 
the  one  hand  at  the  popular  rage  against  the  conspirators,  and 
the  alleged  alarm  on  the  other  lest  there  should  be  an  attempt 
to  rescue  them  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  crowd.  When  they 
had  arrived  within  the  court  of  the  Bargello,  Romola  was 
allowed  to  approach  Bernardo  with  his  confessor  for  a  moment 
of  farewell.  Many  eyes  were  bent  on  them  even  in  that  strug- 
gle of  an  agitated  throng,  as  the  aged  man,  forgetting  that  his 
hands  were  bound  with  irons,  lifted  them  towards  the  golden 
head  that  was  bent  towards  him,  and  then,  checking  that 
movement,  leaned  to  kiss  her.  She  seized  the  fettered  hands 
that  were  hung  down  again,  and  kissed  them  as  if  they  had 
been  sacred  things. 

"  My  poor  Romola,"  said  Bernardo,  in  a  low  voice,  "I 
have  only  to  die,  but  thou  hast  to  live  —  and  I  shall  not  be 
there  to  help  thee." 

"  Yes,"  said  Romola,  hurriedly,  '^  you  will  lielp  me  — 
always  —  because  I  shall  remember  you.''^ 

She  was  taken  away  and  conducted  up  the  flight  of  steps 
that  led  to  the  loggia  surrounding  the  grand  old  court.  She 
took  her  place  there,  determined  to  look  till  the  moment  when 
her  godfather  laid  his  head  on  the  block.  Now  while  the 
prisoners  were  allowed  a  brief  interval  with  their  confessor, 
the  spectators  were  pressing  into  court  until  the  crowd  became 
dense  around  the  black  scaff'old,  and  the  torches  fixed  in  iron 
rings  against  the  pillars  threw  a  varying  startling  light  at  one 
moment  on  passionless  stone  carvings,  at  another  on  some 
pale  face  agitated  with  suppressed  rage  or  suppressed  grief,  — 
the  face  of  one  among  the  many  near  relatives  of  tlie  con- 
demned, who  were  presently  to  receive  their  dead  and  carry 
them  home. 

Romola's  face  looked  like  a  marble  image  against  the 
dark  arch  as  she  stood  watching  for  the  moment  when  her 


280  ROMOLA 

godfatlier  would  appear  at  the  foot  of  tlie  scnfTold.  lie  was 
to  suffer  first ;  and  Battista  Ridolfi,  who  was  by  her  side,  had 
promised  to  take  lier  aM'ay  (hrougli  a  door  behind  them  when 
she  would  have  seen  the  last  look  of  the  man  who  alone  in  all 
the  world  had  shared  her  pitying  love  for  her  father.  And 
still,  in  the  background  of  her  thought,  there  was  the  possi- 
bility striving  to  be  a  hope,  that  some  rescue  might  yet  come, 
something  that  would  keep  that  scaffold  unstained  by  blood. 

For  a  long  while  there  was  constant  movement,  lights 
flickering,  heads  swaying  to  and  fro,  confused  voices  within 
the  court,  rushing  waves  of  sound  through  the  entrance  from 
without.  It  seemed  to  K-omola  as  if  she  were  in  the  midst  oi 
a  storm-troubled  sea,  caring  nothing  about  the  storm,  caring 
only  to  hold  out  a  signal  till  the  eyes  that  looked  for  it  could 
seek  it  no  more. 

Suddenly  there  was  stillness,  and  the  very  tapers  seemed 
to  tremble  into  quiet.  The  executioner  was  ready  on  the 
scaffold,  and  Bernardo  del  Nero  was  seen  ascending  it  with 
a  slow  firm  step.  Eomola  made  no  visible  movement,  ut- 
tered not  even  a  suppressed  sound:  she  stood  more  firmly, 
caring  for  his  firmness.  She  saw  him  pause,  saw  the  white 
head  kept  erect,  while  he  said  in  a  voice  distinctly  audible,  — ■ 

''  It  is  but  a  short  space  of  life  that  my  fellow-citizens 
have  taken  from  me.'" 

She  perceived  that  he  was  gazing  slowly  round  him  as 
he  spoke.  She  felt  that  his  eyes  were  resting  on  her,  and 
that  she  was  stretching  out  her  arms  towards  him.  Then  she 
saw  no  more  till  —  a  long  while  after,  as  it  seemed  —  a  voice 
said,  "  My  daughter,  all  is  peace  now.  I  can  conduct  you  to 
your  house." 

She  uncovered  her  head  and  saw  her  godfather's  con- 
fessor standitig  by  her,  in  a  room  where  there  were  other 
grave  men  talking  in  subdued  tones. 


THE   SCAFFOLD  281 

"  I  am  ready/^  she  said,  starting  up.  "  Let  us  lose  no 
time/' 

She  thought  all  clinging  was  at  an  end  for  her :  all  her 
strength  now  should  be  given  to  escape  from  a  grasp  under 
which  she  shuddered. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

DRIFTING   AWAY 


ON  the  eighth  day  from  that  memorable  night  Romola 
was  standing  on  the  brink  of  the  Mediterranean, 
watching  the  gentle  summer  pulse  of  the  sea  just 
above  what  was  then  the  little  fishing-village  of  Yiareggio. 

Again  she  had  fled  from  Florence,  and  this  time  no 
arresting  voice  had  called  her  back.  Again  she  wore  the  gray 
religious  dress ;  and  this  time,  in  her  heart-sickness,  she  did 
not  care  that  it  was  a  disguise.  A  new  rebellion  had  risen  within 
her,  a  new  despair.  Why  should  she  care  about  wearing  one 
badge  more  than  another,  or  about  being  called  by  her  own 
name  ?  She  despaired  of  finding  any  consistent  duty  belong- 
ing to  that  name.  What  force  was  there  to  create  for  her 
that  supremely  hallowed  motive  which  men  call  duty,  but 
which  can  have  no  inward  constraining  existence  save  through 
some  form  of  believing  love? 

The  bonds  of  all  strong  affection  were  snapped.  In  her 
marriage,  the  highest  bond  of  all,  she  had  ceased  to  sec  the 
mystic  union  which  is  its  own  guarantee  of  indissolubleness, 
had  ceased  even  to  see  the  obligation  of  a  voluntary  pledge : 
had  she  not  proved  that  the  things  to  whicli  she  had  pledged 
herself  were  impossible  ?  The  impulse  to  set  herself  free  had 
risen  again  with  overmastering  force ;  yet  the  freedom  could 
only  be  an  exchange  of  calamity.  There  is  no  compensation 
for  the  woman  who  feels  that  the  chief  relation  of  her  life  has 
been  no  more  than  a  mistake.     She  has  lost  her  crown,     The 


I. 


DRIFTING   AWAY  283 

deepest  secret  of  human  blessedness  has  half  whispered  itself 
to  her,  and  then  forever  passed  her  by. 

And  now  Eomola's  best  support  under  that  supreme 
woman^s  sorrow  had  slipped  away  from  her.  The  vision  of 
any  great  purpose,  any  end  of  existence  which  could  ennoble 
endurance  and  exalt  the  common  deeds  of  a  dusty  life  with 
divine  ardours,  was  utterly  eclipsed  for  her  now  by  the  sense 
of  a  confusion  in  human  things  which  made  all  effort  a  mere 
dragging  at  tangled  threads ;  all  fellowship,  either  for  resist- 
ance or  advocacy,  mere  unfairness  and  exclusiveness.  What, 
after  all,  was  the  man  who  had  represented  for  her  the  high- 
est heroism,  —  the  heroism  not  of  hard,  self-contained  en- 
durance, but  of  willing,  self-oifering  love  ?  What  was  the 
cause  he  was  struggling  for  ?  Romola  had  lost  her  trust  in 
Savonarola,  had  lost  that  fervour  of  admiration  which  had 
made  her  unmindful  of  his  aberrations,  and  attentive  only  to 
the  grand  curve  of  his  orbit.  And  now  that  her  keen  feel- 
ing for  her  godfather  had  thrown  her  into  antagonism  with 
the  Frate,  she  saw  all  the  repulsive  and  inconsistent  details  in 
his  teaching  with  a  painful  lucidity  which  exaggerated  their 
proportions.  In  the  bitterness  of  her  disappointment  she 
said  that  his  striving  after  the  renovation  of  the  Church  and 
the  world  was  a  striving  after  a  mere  name  which  told  no 
more  than  the  title  of  a  book :  a  name  tliat  had  come  to 
mean  practically  the  measures  that  would  strengthen  his  own 
position  in  Florence ;  nay,  often  questionable  deeds  and 
words,  for  the  sake  of  saving  his  influence  from  suffering  by 
his  own  errors.  And  that  political  reform  which  had  once 
made  a  new  interest  in  her  life  seemed  now  to  reduce  itself  to 
narrow  devices  for  the  safety  of  Florence,  in  contemptible 
contradiction  with  the  alternating  professions  of  blind  trust 
in  the  Divine  care. 

It  was  inevitable  that  she  should  judge  the  Frate  unfairly 


284  ROMOLA 

on  a  question  of  individual  suffering,  at  which  she  looked 
with  the  eyes  of  personal  tenderness,  and  he  with  the  eyes 
of  theoretic  conviction.  In  that  declaration  of  his,  that  the 
cause  of  his  party  was  the  cause  of  God's  kingdom,  she 
heard  only  the  ring  of  egoism.  J-*erliaps  such  words  have 
rarely  been  uttered  without  that  meaner  ring  in  them ;  yet 
they  are  the  implicit  formula  of  all  energetic  belief.  And  if 
such  energetic  bebef,  pursuing  a  grand  and  remote  end,  is 
often  in  danger  of  becoming  a  demon-worship,  in  which 
the  votary  lets  his  son  and  daughter  pass  through  the  fire 
with  a  readiness  that  hardly  looks  like  sacrifice;  tender 
fellow-feeling  for  the  nearest  has  its  danger  too,  and  is  apt 
to  be  timid  and  sceptical  towards  the  larger  aims  without 
which  life  cannot  rise  into  religion.  In  this  way  poor 
Romola  was  being  blinded  by  her  tears. 

No  one  who  has  ever  known  what  it  is  thus  to  lose  faith 
in  a  fellow-man  wliom  he  has  profoundly  loved  and  rever- 
enced, will  lightly  say  that  the  shock  can  leave  the  faith  in 
the  Invisible  Goodness  unshaken.  With  the  sinking  of  high 
human  trust,  the  dignity  of  life  sinks  too  ;  we  cease  to  be- 
lieve in  our  own  better  self,  since  that  also  is  part  of  the 
common  nature  which  is  degraded  in  our  thought ;  and  all 
the  finer  impulses  of  the  soul  are  dulled.  Romola  felt  even 
the  springs  of  her  once  active  pity  drying  up,  and  leaving  her 
to  barren  egoistic  complaining.  Had  not  she  had  her  sorrows 
too  ?  And  few  had  cared  for  her,  while  she  had  cared  for 
many.  She  had  done  enough ;  she  had  striven  after  the  im- 
possible, and  was  weary  of  this  stifling  crowded  life.  She 
longed  for  that  repose  in  mere  sensation  which  she  had 
sometimes  dreamed  of  in  the  sultry  afternoons  of  her  early 
girlhood,  when  slie  had  fancied  herself  floating  naiad-like  in 
the  waters. 

The  clear  waves  seemed  to  invite  her :  she  wished  she 


DRIFTING   AWAY  285 

could  lie  down  to  sleep  on  them  and  pass  from  sleep  into 
death.  But  Romola  could  not  directly  seek  death  ;  the  ful- 
ness of  young  life  in  her  forbade  that.  She  could  only  wish 
that  death  would  come. 

At  the  spot  where  she  had  paused  there  was  a  deep  bend 
in  the  shore,  and  a  small  boat  with  a  sail  was  moored  there. 
In  her  longing  to  glide  over  the  waters  that  were  getting 
golden  with  the  level  sun-rays,  she  thought  of  a  story  which 
had  been  one  of  the  things  she  had  loved  to  dwell  on  in  Boc- 
caccio, when  her  father  fell  asleep  and  she  glided  from  her 
stool  to  sit  on  the  floor  and  read  the  "  Decamerone.^'  It  was 
the  story  of  that  fair  Gostanza  who  in  her  lovelornness  desired 
to  live  no  longer,  but  not  having  the  courage  to  attack  her 
young  life,  had  put  herself  into  a  boat  and  pushed  off  to  sea  ; 
then,  lying  down  in  the  boat,  had  wrapped  her  mantle  round 
her  head,  hoping  to  be  wrecked,  so  that  her  fear  would  be 
helpless  to  flee  from  death.  The  memory  had  remained  a 
mere  thought  in  Romola's  mind,  without  budding  into  any 
distinct  wish ;  but  now,  as  she  paused  again  in  her  walk- 
ing to  and  fro,  she  saw  gliding  black  against  the  red  gold 
another  boat  with  one  man  in  it,  making  towards  the  bend 
where  the  first  and  smaller  boat  was  moored.  Walking  on 
again,  she  at  length  saw  the  man  land,  pull  his  boat 
ashore  and  begin  to  unlade  something  from  it.  He  was 
perhaps  the  owner  of  the  smaller  boat  also  :  he  would  be 
going  away  soon,  and  her  opportunity  would  be  gone  with 
him,  —  her  opportunity  of  buying  that  smaller  boat.  She 
had  not  yet  admitted  to  herself  that  she  meant  to  use  it,  but 
she  felt  a  sudden  eagerness  to  secure  the  possibility  of  using 
it,  which  disclosed  the  half-unconscious  growth  of  a  thought 
into  a  desire. 

"  Is  that  little  boat  yours  also  ?  "  she  said  to  the  fisher- 
man, who  had  looked  up,  a  little  startled  by  the  tall  gray 


286  ROMOLA 

figure,  and  had  made  a  reverence  to  this  holy  Sister  wan- 
dering thus  mysteriously  in  the  evening  solitude. 

It  was  his  boat ;  an  old  one,  hardly  seaworthy,  yet  worth 
repairing  to  any  man  who  would  buy  it.  By  the  blessing  of 
San  Antonio,  whose  chapel  was  in  the  village  yonder,  his  fish- 
ing had  prospered,  and  he  had  now  a  better  boat,  which  had 
once  been  Gianni's  who  died.  But  he  had  not  yet  sold  the 
old  one.  Romola  asked  him  how  much  it  was  -worth,  and 
then,  while  he  was  busy,  thrust  the  price  into  a  little  satchel 
lying  on  the  ground  and  containing  the  remnant  of  his  dinner. 
After  that,  she  watched  him  furling  his  sail  and  asked  iiim 
how  he  should  set  it  if  he  wanted  to  go  out  to  sea,  and  then 
pacing  up  and  down  again,  waited  to  see  him  depart. 

The  imagination  of  herself  gliding  away  in  tliat  boat  on 
the  darkening  waters  was  growing  more  and  more  into  a  long- 
ing, as  tlie  thought  of  a  cool  brook  in  sultriness  becomes  a 
2)ainful  thirst.  To  be  freed  from  the  burden  of  choice  when 
all  motive  was  bruised,  to  commit  herself,  sleeping,  to  destiny 
which  would  either  bring  death  or  else  w^'in  necessities  that 
might  rouse  a  new  life  in  her !  —  it  was  a  thought  that  beck- 
oned her  the  more  because  the  soft  evening  air  made  her  long 
to  rest  in  the  still  solitude,  instead  of  going  back  to  the  noise 
and  heat  of  the  village. 

At  last  the  slow  fisherman  had  gathered  up  all  his  mov- 
ables and  was  walking  away.  Soon  the  gold  was  shrinking 
and  getting  duskier  in  sea  and  sky,  and  there  was  no  living 
thing  in  sight,  no  sound  but  the  lulling  monotony  of  the  lap- 
ping waves.  In  this  sea  there  was  no  tide  that  would  help  to 
carry  her  away  if  she  waited  for  its  ebb  ;  but  Eomola  thought 
the  breeze  from  the  land  was  rising  a  little.  She  got  into  the 
boat,  unfurled  the  sail,  and  fastened  it  as  she  had  learned  in 
that  first  brief  lesson.  She  saw  that  it  caught  the  light  breeze, 
and  this  was  all  she  cared  for.     Then  she  loosed  the  boat  from 


DRIFllNG   AWAY  287 

its  moorings,  and  tried  to  urge  it  with  an  oar,  till  she  was  far 
out  from  the  land,  till  the  sea  was  dark  even  to  the  west,  and 
the  stars  were  disclosing  themselves  like  a  palpitating  life  over 
the  wide  heavens.  Eesting  at  last,  she  threw  back  her  cowl, 
and  taking  off  the  kerchief  underneath,  which  confined  her 
hair,  she  doubled  them  both  under  her  head  for  a  pillow  on 
one  of  the  boat^s  ribs.  The  fair  head  was  still  very  young, 
and  could  bear  a  hard  pillow. 

And  so  she  lay,  with  the  soft  night  air  breathing  on  her 
while  she  glided  on  the  water  and  watched  the  deepening  quiet 
of  the  sky.  She  was  alone  now :  she  had  freed  herself  from 
all  claims,  she  had  freed  herself  even  from  that  burden  of 
choice  which  presses  with  heavier  and  heavier  weight  when 
claims  have  loosed  their  guiding  hold. 

Had  she  found  anything  like  the  dream  of  her  girlhood  ? 
No.  Memories  hung  upon  her  like  the  weight  of  broken 
wings  that  could  never  be  lifted,  ■^—  memories  of  human 
sympathy  which  even  in  its  pain  leaves  a  thirst  that  the 
Great  Mother  has  no  milk  to  still.  Romola  felt  orphaned 
in  those  wide  spaces  of  sea  and  sky.  She  read  no  message 
of  love  for  her  in  that  far-off  symbolic  writing  of  the  heavens, 
and  with  a  great  sob  she  wished  that  she  might  be  gliding 
into  death. 

She  drew  the  cowl  over  her  head  again  and  covered 
her  face,  clioosing  darkness  rather  than  the  light  of  the 
stars,  which  seemed  to  her  like  the  hard  light  of  eyes 
that  looked  at  her  without  seeing  her.  Presently  she  felt 
that  she  was  in  the  grave,  but  not  resting  there :  she  was 
touching  tlie  hands  of  the  beloved  dead  beside  her,  and  try- 
ing to  wake  them. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

THE    BENEDICTION 

ABOUT  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  27th  of 
/-%  February  the  currents  of  passengers  along  the  Flor- 
entine streets  set  decidedly  towards  San  Marco.  It 
was  the  last  morning  of  the  Carnival,  and  every  one  knew  there 
was  a  second  Bonfire  of  Vanities  being  prepared  in  front  of 
the  Old  Palace  ;  but  at  this  hour  it  was  evident  that  the  centre 
of  popular  interest  lay  elsewhere. 

The  Piazza  di  San  Marco  was  filled  by  a  multitude  who 
showed  no  other  movement  than  that  which  proceeded  from 
the  pressure  of  new-comers  trying  to  force  their  way  forward 
from  all  the  "openings  :  but  the  front  ranks  were  already  close- 
serried  and  resisted  the  pressure.  Those  ranks  were  ranged 
around  a  semicircular  barrier  in  front  of  the  church,  and 
within  this  barrier  were  already  assembling  the  Dominican 
Brethren  of  San   Marco. 

But  the  temporary  wooden  pulpit  erected  over  the 
church-door  was  still  empty.  It  was  presently  to  be  entered 
by  the  man  whom  the  Pope's  command  had  banished  from  the 
pulpit  of  the  Duomo,  whom  the  other  ecclesiastics  of  Florence 
had  been  forbidden  to  consort  with,  whom  the  citizens  had 
been  forbidden  to  hear  on  pain  of  excommunication.  This 
man  had  said,  "  A  wicked,  unbelieving  Pope  who  has  gained 
the  pontifical  chair  by  bribery  is  not  Christ's  Vicar.  His 
curses  are  broken  swords :  he  grasps  a  hilt  without  a  blade. 
His  commands  are  contrary  to  the  Cliristian  life  :  it  is  lawful 
to  disobey  them,  —  nay,  it  is  not  lawful  to  obey  them."    And 


The  outer  cloister  of  San  Marco 


t^mmmm^ti^iaw  • 


THE   BENEDICTION  289 

the  people  still  flocked  to  hear  him  as  he  preached  in  his  own 
church  of  San  Marco,  though  the  Pope  was  hanging  terrible 
threats  over  Florence  if  it  did  not  renounce  the  pestilential 
schismatic  and  send  him  to  Eome  to  be  "  converted,"  —  still, 
as  on  this  very  morning,  accepted  the  Communion  from  his 
excommunicated  hands.  For  how  if  this  Frate  had  really 
more  command  over  the  Divine  lightnings  than  that  official 
successor  of  Saint  Peter  ?  It  was  a  momentous  question, 
which  for  the  mass  of  citizens  could  never  be  decided  by  the 
Frate's  ultimate  test;  namely,  what  was  and  what  was  not 
accordant  with  the  highest  spiritual  law.  No ;  in  such  a  case 
as  this,  if  God  had  chosen  the  Frate  as  his  prophet  to  rebuke 
the  High  Priest  who  carried  the  mystic  raiment  unworthily, 
he  would  attest  his  choice  by  some  unmistakable  sign.  As 
long  as  the  belief  in  the  Prophet  carried  no  threat  of  outward 
calamity,  but  rather  the  confident  hope  of  exceptional  safety, 
no  sign  was  needed :  his  preaching  was  a  music  to  which  the 
people  felt  themselves  marching  along  the  way  they  wished 
to  go ;  but  now  that  belief  meant  an  immediate  blow  to  their 
commerce,  the  shaking  of  their  position  among  the  Italian 
States,  and  an  interdict  on  their  city,  there  inevitably  came  the 
question,  "  What  miracle  showest  thou  ?  "  Slowly  at  first, 
then  faster  and  faster,  that  fatal  demand  had  been  swelling  in 
Savonarola's  ear,  provoking  a  response,  outwardly  in  the 
declaration  that  at  the  fitting  time  the  miracle  would  come ; 
inwardly  in  the  faith,  —  not  unwavering,  for  what  faith  is  so  ? 
—  that  if  the  need  for  miracle  became  urgent,  the  work  he 
had  before  him  was  too  great  for  the  Divine  power  to  leave  it 
halting.  His  faith  wavered,  but  not  his  speech  :  it  is  the  lot 
of  every  man  who  has  to  speak  for  the  satisfaction  of  the 
crowd,  that  he  must  often  speak  in  virtue  of  yesterday's  faith, 
hoping  it  will  come  back  to-morrow. 

It  was  in  preparation  for  a  scene  which  was  really  a 
vol..  II.  — 19 


290  ROMOLA 

response  to  the  popular  impatience  for  some  supernatural 
guarantee  of  the  Prophet's  mission,  that  the  wooden  pulpit 
had  been  erected  above  the  church-door.  But  while  the 
ordinary  Frati  in  black  mantles  were  entering  and  arranging 
themselves,  the  faces  of  the  multitude  were  not  yet  eagerly 
directed  towards  the  pulpit :  it  was  felt  that  Savonarola  would 
not  appear  just  yet,  and  there  was  some  interest  in  singling  out 
the  various  monks,  some  of  them  belonging  to  high  Florentine 
families,  many  of  them  having  fathers,  brothers,  or  cousins 
among  the  artisans  and  shopkeepers  who  made  the  majority  of 
the  crowd.  It  was  not  till  the  tale  of  monks  was  complete, 
not  till  they  had  fluttered  their  books  and  had  begun  to  chant, 
that  people  said  to  each  other,  "Era  Girolamo  must  be  coming 
now." 

That  expectation  rather  than  any  spell  from  the  accus- 
tomed wail  of  psalmody  was  what  made  silence  and  expecta- 
tion seem  to  spread  like  a  paling  solemn  light  over  the 
multitude  of  upturned  faces,  all  now  directed  towards  the 
empty  pulpit. 

The  next  instant  the  pulpit  was  no  longer  empty.  A 
figure  covered  from  head  to  foot  in  black  cowl  and  mantle 
had  entered  it,  and  was  kneeling  with  bent  head  and  with  face 
turned  away.  It  seemed  a  weary  time  to  the  eager  people 
while  the  black  figure  knelt  and  the  monks  chanted.  But  the 
stillness  was  not  broken,  for  the  Frate's  audiences  with  Heaven 
were  yet  charged  with  electric  awe  for  that  mixed  multitude, 
so  that  those  who  had  already  the  will  to  stone  him  felt  their 
arms  unnerved. 

At  last  there  was  a  vibration  among  the  multitude,  each 
seeming  to  give  his  neighbor  a  momentary  aspen-like  touch, 
as  when  men  who  have  been  watching  for  something  in  the 
heavens  see  the  expected  presence  silently  disclosing  itself. 
The  Frate  had  risen,  turned  towards  the  people,  and  partly 


THE   BENEDICTION  291 

pushed  back  his  cowl.  The  monotonous  wail  of  psalmody 
had  ceased,  and  to  those  who  stood  near  the  pulpit,  it  was  as 
if  the  sounds  which  had  just  been  filling  their  ears  had  sud- 
denly merged  themselves  in  the  force  of  Savonarola's  flashing 
glance,  as  he  looked  round  him  in  the  silence.  Then  lie 
stretched  out  his  hands,  which  in  their  exquisite  delicacy 
seemed  transfigured  from  an  animal  organ  for  grasping  into 
vehicles  of  sensibility  too  acute  to  need  any  gross  contact,  — 
hands  that  came  like  an  appealing  speech  from  that  part  of  his 
soul  which  was  masked  by  his  strong  passionate  face,  written 
on  now  with  deeper  lines  about  the  mouth  and  brow  than  are 
made  by  forty-four  years  of  ordinary  life. 

At  the  first  stretching  out  of  the  hands  some  of  the 
crowd  in  the  front  ranks  fell  on  their  knees,  and  here  and 
there  a  devout  disciple  farther  off";  but  the  great  majority 
stood  firm,  some  resisting  the  impulse  to  kneel  before  this 
excommunicated  man  (might  not  a  great  judgment  fall  upon 
him  even  in  this  act  of  blessing  ?)  —  others  jarred  with  scorn 
and  hatred  of  the  ambitious  deceiver  who  was  getting  up  this 
new  comedy,  before  which,  nevertheless,  they  felt  themselves 
impotent,  as  before  the  triumph  of  a  fashion. 

But  then  came  the  voice,  clear  and  low  at  first,  uttering 
the  words  of  absolution,  —  "  Misereatur  vestri,"  —  and  more 
fell  on  their  knees ;  and  as  it  rose  higher  and  yet  clearer,  the 
erect  heads  became  fewer  and  fewer,  till,  at  the  words  "  Bene- 
dicat  vos  omnipotens  Dens,"  it  rose  to  a  masculine  cry,  as 
if  protesting  its  power  to  bless  under  the  clutch  of  a  demon 
that  wanted  to  stifle  it :  it  rang  like  a  trumpet  to  the  extrem- 
ities of  the  piazza,  and  under  it  every  head  was  bowed. 

After  the  utterance  of  that  blessing,  Savonarola  himself 
fell  on  his  knees  and  hid  his  face  in  temporary  exhaustion. 
Those  great  jets  of  emotion  were  a  necessary  part  of  his  life ; 
he   himself   had   said   to   the  people   long  ago,   "  Without 


292  ROMOLA 

preaching  I  cannot  live."  But  it  was  a  life  that  shattered 
him. 

In  a  few  minutes  more,  some  had  risen  to  their  feet, 
but  a  larger  number  remained  kneeling,  and  all  faces  were  in- 
tently watching  him.  He  had  taken  into  his  hands  a  crystal 
vessel,  containing  the  consecrated  Host,  and  was  about  to  ad- 
dress the  people. 

"  You  remember,  my  children,  three  days  ago  I  besought 
you,  when  I  should  hold  this  Sacrament  in  my  hand  in  the 
face  of  you  all,  to  pray  fervently  to  the  Most  High  that  if  this 
work  of  mine  does  not  come  from  Him,  He  will  send  a  fire 
and  consume  me,  that  I  may  vanish  into  the  eternal  darkness 
away  from  His  light  which  I  have  hidden  with  my  falsity. 
Again  I  beseech  you  to  make  that  prayer,  and  to  make  it 
now." 

It  was  a  breathless  moment :  perhaps  no  man  really 
prayed,  if  some  in  a  spirit  of  devout  obedience  made  tlie  ef- 
fort to  pray.  Every  consciousness  M'as  chiefly  possessed  by 
the  sense  that  Savonarola  was  praying,  in  a  voice  not  loud,  but 
distinctly  audible  in  the  wide  stillness. 

"  Lord,  if  I  have  not  wrought  in  sincerity  of  soul,  if 
my  word  cometh  not  from  Thee,  strike  me  in  this  moment 
with  Thy  thunder,  and  let  the  fires  of  Thy  wrath  enclose 
me." 

He  ceased  to  speak,  and  stood  motionless,  with  the  con- 
secrated mystery  in  his  hand,  with  eyes  uplifted  and  a  quiver- 
ing excitement  in  his  whole  aspect.  Every  one  else  was 
motionless  and  silent  too,  while  the  sunlight,  which  for  the 
last  quarter  of  an  hour  had  here  and  there  been  piercing  the 
grayness,  made  fitful  streaks  across  the  convent  wall,  caus- 
ing some  awe-stricken  spectators  to  start  timidly.  But  soon 
tliere  was  a  wider  parting,  and  with  a  gentle  quickness,  like 
a  smile,  a  stream   of  brightness  poured  itself  on  the  crystal 


THE   BENEDICTION  293 

vase,  and  then  spread  itseK  over  Savonarola's  face  with  mild 
glorification. 

An  instantaneous  shout  rang  through  the  piazza,  "  Be- 
hold the  answer  !  " 

The  warm  radiance  thrilled  through  Savonarola's  frame, 
and  so  did  the  shout.  It  was  his  last  moment  of  untroubled 
triumph,  and  in  its  rapturous  confidence  he  felt  carried  to 
a  grander  scene  yet  to  come,  before  an  audience  that  would 
represent  all  Christendom,  in  whose  presence  he  should  again 
be  sealed  as  the  messenger  of  the  supreme  righteousness,  and 
feel  himself  full  charged  with  Divine  strength.  It  was  but  a 
moment  that  expanded  itself  in  that  prevision.  While  the 
shout  was  still  ringing  in  his  ears  he  turned  away  witliin 
the  church,  feeling  the  strain  too  great  for  him  to  bear  it 
longer. 

But  when  the  Frate  had  disappeared,  and  the  sunlight 
seemed  no  longer  to  have  anything  special  in  its  illumination, 
but  was  spreading  itself  impartially  over  all  things  clean 
and  unclean,  there  began,  along  with  the  general  movement 
of  the  crowd,  a  confusion  of  voices  in  which  certain  strong 
discords  and  varying  scales  of  laughter  made  it  evideiit 
that,  in  the  previous  silence  and  universal  kneeling,  hostility 
and  scorn  had  only  submitted  unwillingly  to  a  momentary 
spell. 

"  It  seems  to  me  the  plaudits  are  giving  way  to  criticism," 
said  Tito,  who  had  been  watching  the  scene  attentively  from 
an  upper  loggia  in  one  of  the  houses  opposite  the  church. 
"  Nevertheless  it  was  a  striking  moment,  eh,  Messer  Pietro  ? 
Fra  Girolamo  is  a  man  to  make  one  understand  that  there 
was  a  time  when  the  monk's  frock  was  a  symbol  of  power 
over  men's  minds  rather  than  over  the  keys  of  women's 
cupboards." 

"  Assuredly,"  said  Pietro  Cennini.     "  And  until  I  have 


294  ROMOLA 

seen  proot  that  Era  Girolamo  has  much  less  faith  in  God^s 
judgments  than  the  common  run  of  men^  instead  of  having 
considerably  more,  I  shall  not  believe  that  he  would  brave 
Heaven  in  this  way  if  his  soul  were  laden  with  a  conscious 
lie." 


i 


i 


I 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

RIPENING    SCHEMES 

A  MONTH  after  that  Carnival,  one  morning  near  the 
end  of  March,  Tito  descended  the  marble  steps  of  the 
Old  Palace,  bound  on  a  pregnant  errand  to  San  Marco. 
For  some  reason  he  did  not  choose  to  take  the  direct  road, 
which  was  but  a  slightly  bent  line  from  the  Old  Palace;  he 
chose  rather  to  make  a  circuit  by  the  Piazza  di  Santa  Croce, 
where  the  people  would  be  pouring  out  of  the  church  after 
the  early  sermon. 

It  was  in  the  grand  church  of  Santa  Croce  that  the  daily 
Lenten  sermon  had  of  late  had  the  largest  audience.  For 
Savonarola's  voice  had  ceased  to  be  heard  even  in  his  own 
church  of  San  Marco,  a  hostile  Signoria  having  imposed 
silence  on  him  in  obedience  to  a  new  letter  from  the  Pope, 
threatening  the  city  with  an  immediate  interdict  if  this 
"  wretched  worm  "  and  '^  monstrous  idol "  were  not  forbidden 
to  preach,  and  sent  to  demand  pardon  at  Rome.  And  next  to 
hearing  Fra  Girolamo  himself,  the  most  exciting  Lenten  occu- 
pation was  to  hear  him  argued  against  and  villified.  This  ex- 
citement was  to  be  had  in  Santa  Croce,  where  the  Franciscan 
appointed  to  preach  the  Quaresimal  sermons  had  offered  to 
clench  his  arguments  by  walking  through  the  fire  with  Fra 
Girolamo.  Had  not  that  schismatical  Dominican  said  that 
his  prophetic  doctrine  would  be  proved  by  a  miracle  at  the 
fitting  time  ?  Here,  then,  was  the  fitting  time.  Let  Savona- 
rola walk  through  the  fire,  and  if  he  came  out  unhurt,  the 


296  ROMOLA 

Divine  origin  of  his  doctrine  would  be  demonstrated ;  but  if 
the  fire  consumed  him,  his  falsity  would  be  manifest;  and 
that  he  might  have  no  excuse  for  evading  the  test,  the  Fran- 
ciscan declared  himself  willing  to  be  a  victim  to  this  high 
logic,  and  to  be  burned  for  the  sake  of  securing  the  necessary 
minor  premise. 

Savonarola,  according  to  his  habit,  had  taken  no  notice 
of  these  pulpit  attacks.  But  it  happened  that  the  zealous 
preacher  of  Santa  Croce  was  no  other  than  the  Fra  Francesco 
di  Puglia,  who  at  Prato  the  year  before  had  been  engaged 
in  a  like  challenge  with  Savonarola's  fervent  follower  Fra 
Domenico,  but  had  been  called  home  by  his  superiors  while 
the  heat  was  simply  oratorical.  Honest  Fra  Domenico,  then, 
who  was  preaching  Lenten  sermons  to  the  women  in  the  Yia 
del  Cocomero,  no  sooner  heard  of  this  new  challenge  than  he 
took  up  the  gauntlet  for  his  master,  and  declared  himself 
ready  to  walk  through  the  fire  with  Fra  Francesco.  Already 
the  people  were  beginning  to  take  a  strong  interest  in  what 
seemed  to  them  a  short  and  easy  method  of  argument  (for 
those  who  were  to  be  convinced),  when  Savonarola,  keenly 
alive  to  the  dangers  that  lay  in  the  mere  discussion  of  the 
case,  commanded  Fra  Domenico  to  withdraw  his  acceptance  of 
the  challenge  and  secede  from  the  affair.  The  Franciscan 
declared  himself  content ;  he  had  not  directed  his  challenge  to 
any  subaltern,  but  to  Fra  Girolamo  himself. 

After  that,  the  popular  interest  in  the  Lenten  sermons 
had  flagged  a  little.  But  this  morning,  when  Tito  entered 
the  Piazza  di  Santa  Croce,  he  found,  as  he  expected,  that  the 
people  were  pouring  from  the  church  in  large  numbers.  In- 
stead of  dispersing,  many  of  them  concentrated  themselves 
towards  a  particular  spot  near  the  entrance  of  the  Franciscan 
monastery,  and  l^to  took  the  same  direction,  threading  the 
crowd  with  a  careless  and  leisurely  air,  but  keeping  careful 


RIPENING   SCHEMES  297 

watch  on  that  monastic  entrance,  as  if  he  expected  some 
object  of  interest  to  issue  from  it. 

It  was  no  such  expectation  that  occupied  the  crowd. 
The  object  they  were  caring  about  was  already  visible  to  them 
in  the  shape  of  a  large  placard,  affixed  by  order  of  the  Sig- 
noria,  and  covered  with  very  legible  official  handwriting. 
But  curiosity  was  somewhat  balked  by  the  fact  that  the  manu- 
script was  chiefly  in  Latin,  and  though  nearly  every  man  knew 
beforehand  approximately  what  the  placard  contaiiietl,  he  had 
an  appetite  for  more  exact  knowledge,  which  gave  him  an 
irritating  sense  of  his  neighbour's  ignorance  in  not  being  able 
to  interpret  the  learned  tongue.  For  that  aural  acquaintance 
with  Latin  phrases  which  the  unlearned  might  pick  up  from 
pulpit  quotations  constantly  interpreted  by  the  preacher  could 
help  them  little  when  they  saw  written  Latin ;  the  spelling 
even  of  the  modern  language  being  in  an  unorganized  and 
scrambling  condition  for  the  mass  of  people  who  could  read 
and  write,  while  the  majority  of  those  assembled  nearest  to  the 
placard  were  not  in  the  dangerous  predicament  of  possessing 
that  little  knowledge. 

"  It 's  the  Frate's  doctrines  that  he 's  to  prove  by  being 
burned,"  said  that  large  public  character  Goro,  who  happened 
to  be  among  the  foremost  gazers.  "  The  Signoria  has  taken 
it  in  hand,  and  the  writing  is  to  let  us  know.  It  's  what  the 
Padre  has  been  telling  us  about  in  his  sermon." 

"  Nay,  Goro,"  said  a  sleek  shopkeeper,  compassionately, 
"  thou  hast  got  thy  legs  into  twisted  hose  there.  The  Frate 
has  to  prove  his  doctrines  by  7iof  being  burned :  he  is  to  walk 
through  the  fire,  and  come  out  on  the  other  side  sound  and 
whole. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  a  young  sculptor,  who  wore  his  white- 
streaked  cap  and  tunic  with  a  jaunty  air.  "  But  Fra  Giro- 
lamo  objects  to  walking  through  the  fire.     Being  sound  and 


298  ROMOLA 

whole  already,  he  sees  no  reason  why  he  should  walk  through 
the  fire  to  come  out  in  just  the  same  condition.  He  leaves 
such  odds  and  ends  of  work  to  Fra  Domenico." 

"  Then  I  say  he  flinches  like  a  coward/^  said  Goro,  in  a 
wheezy  treble.  "  Suffocation !  that  was  what  he  did  at  the 
Carnival.  He  had  us  all  in  the  piazza  to  see  the  lightning 
strike  him,  and  nothing  came  of  it.'' 

"  Stop  that  bleating,"  said  a  tall  shoemaker,  who  had 
stepped  in  to  hear  part  of  the  sermon,  with  bunches  of 
slippers  hanging  over  his  shoulders.  "  It  seems  to  me, 
friend,  that  you  are  about  as  wise  as  a  calf  with  water  on  its 
brain.  The  Frate  will  flinch  from  nothing  :  he  '11  say  noth- 
ing beforehand,  perhaps,  but  wlien  the  moment  comes  he  '11 
walk  through  the  fire  without  asking  any  gray-frock  to  keep 
him  company.  But  I  would  give  a  shoestring  to  know  what 
this  Latin  all  is." 

"  There 's  so  much  of  it,"  said  the  shopkeeper,  "  else 
I  'm  pretty  good  at  guessing.  Is  there  no  scholar  to  be 
seen  ?  "  he  added,  with  a  slight  expression  of  disgust. 

There  was  a  general  turning  of  heads,  which  caused  the 
talkers  to  descry  Tito  approaching  in  their  rear. 

"  Here  is  one,"  said  the  young  sculptor,  smiling  and 
raising  his  cap. 

"It  is  the  secretary  of  the  Ten:  he  is  going  to  the 
convent,  doubtless ;  make  way  for  him,"  said  the  shopkeeper, 
also  doffing,  though  that  mark  of  respect  was  rarely  shown 
by  Florentines  except  to  the  highest  officials.  The  excep- 
tional reverence  was  really  exacted  by  the  splendour  and 
grace  of  Tito's  appearance,  which  made  his  black  mantle, 
with  its  gold  fibula,  look  like  a  regal  robe,  and  his  ordinary 
black  velvet  cap  like  an  entirely  exceptional  head-dress.  The 
hardening  of  his  cheeks  and  mouth,  which  was  the  chief 
change  in  his  face  since  he  came  to  Florence,  seemed  to  a 


RIPENING   SCHEMES  299 

superficial  glance  only  to  give  his  beauty  a  more  masculine 
character.     He  raised  his  own  cap  immediately,  and  said,  — 

"  Thanksj  my  friend,  I  merely  wished,  as  you  did,  to 
see  what  is  at  the  foot  of  this  placard,  —  ah,  it  is  as  I  ex- 
pected. I  had  been  informed  that  the  government  permits 
any  one  who  will,  to  subscribe  his  name  as  a  candidate  to 
enter  the  fire,  —  which  is  an  act  of  liberality  worthy  of  the 
magnificent  Signoria,  —  reserving  of  course  the  right  to 
make  a  selection.  And  doubtless  many  believers  will  be 
eager  to  subscribe  their  names.  For  what  is  it  to  enter  the 
fire,  to  one  whose  faith  is  firm  ?  A  man  is  afraid  of  the  fire, 
because  he  believes  it  will  burn  him ;  but  if  he  believes  the 
contrary  ?  "  —  here  Tito  Kfted  his  shoulders  and  made  an 
oratorical  pause,  —  "  for  which  reason  I  have  never  been  one 
to  disbelieve  the  Frate,  when  he  has  said  that  he  would 
enter  the  fire  to  prove  his  doctrine.  For  in  his  place,  if  you 
believed  the  fire  would  not  burn  you,  which  of  you,  my 
friends,  would  not  enter  it  as  readily  as  you  would  walk 
along  the  dry  bed  of  the  Mugnone?'^ 

As  Tito  looked  round  him  during  this  appeal,  there  was 
a  change  in  some  of  his  audience  very  much  like  the  change 
in  an  eager  dog  when  he  is  invited  to  smell  something  pun- 
gent. Since  the  question  of  burning  was  becoming  practical, 
it  was  not  every  one  who  would  rashly  commit  himself  to  any 
general  view  of  the  relation  between  faith  and  fire.  The  scene 
might  have  been  too  much  for  a  gravity  less  under  command 
than  Tito's. 

"  Then,  Messer  Segretario,''  said  the  young  sculptor,  "  it 
seems  to  me  Fra  Francesco  is  the  greater  hero,  for  he  offers 
to  enter  the  fire  for  the  truth,  though  he  is  sure  the  fire  will 
burn  him." 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,''  said  Tito,  blandly.  "  But  if  it 
turns  out  that  Fra  Francesco  is  mistaken,  he  will  have  been 


300  ROMOLA 

burned  for  the  wrong  side,  and  the  Church  has  never  reckoned 
such  victims  to  be  martyrs.  We  must  suspend  our  judgment 
until  the  trial  has  really  taken  place/^ 

"  It  is  true,  Messer  Segretario,"  said  the  shopkeeper,  with 
subdued  impatience.  "  But  will  you  favour  us  by  interpret- 
ing the  Latin  ?  " 

"  Assuredly ,^^  said  Tito.  "  It  does  but  express  the  con- 
clusions or  doctrines  which  the  Prate  specially  teaches,  and 
which  the  trial  by  fire  is  to  prove  true  or  false.  They  are 
doubtless  familiar  to  you.     First,  that  Florence  —  " 

"  Let  us  have  the  Latin  bit  by  bit,  and  then  teU  us  what 
it  means,"  said  the  shoemaker,  who  had  been  a  frequent  hearer 
of  Fra  Girolamo. 

"  Willingly,"  said  Tito,  smiling.  "  You  will  then  judge 
if  I  give  you  the  right  meaning." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  that 's  fair,"  said  Goro. 

"  Ecclesia  Dei  indiget  renovatione  ;  that  is,  the  Church 
of  God  needs  purifying  or  regenerating." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  several  voices  at  once. 

"That  means,  the  priests  ought  to  lead  better  lives; 
there  needs  no  miracle  to  prove  that.  That's  what  the 
Frate  has  always  been  saying,"  said  the  shoemaker. 

"  Flagellabitur,"  Tito  went  on.  "  That  is,  it  will  be 
scourged.  Renovabikir :  it  will  be  purified.  Florentia 
quoque  post  fiagellam  renovabitur  et  prosperabitur :  Flor- 
ence also,  after  the  scourging,  shall  be  purified  and  shall 
prosper." 

"That  means  we  are  to  get  Pisa  again,"  said  the 
shopkeeper. 

"  And  get  the  wool  from  England  as  we  used  to  do,  I 
should  hope,"  said  an  elderly  man,  in  an  old-fashioned  berretta, 
who  had  been  silent  till  now.  "  There's  been  scourging  enough 
with  the  sinking  of  the  trade." 


Savonarola's  cell  in  San  Marco 


RIPENING   SCHEMES  301 

At  this  moment  a  tall  personage,  surmounted  by  a  red 
feather,  issued  from  the  door  of  the  convent,  and  exchanged 
an  indifferent  glance  with  Tito  ;  who,  tossing  his  becchetto 
carelessly  over  his  left  shoulder,  turned  to  liis  reading  again, 
while  the  bystanders,  with  more  timidity  than  respect,  shrank 
to  make  a  passage  for  Messer  Dolfo  Spini. 

"  Infideles  convertentur  ad  Christum,''  Tito  went  on 
"  That  is,  the  infidels  shall  be  converted  to  Christ." 

"  Those  are  the  Turks  and  the  Moors.  Well,  I  ^ve  nothing 
to  say  against  that,'*'  said  the  shopkeeper,  dispassionately. 

"  H(Bc  autem  om)iia  erunt  temponhiis  nostris:  and  all 
these  things  shall  happen  in  our  times." 

"  Why,  what  use  would  they  be  else  ?  "  said  Goro. 

"  Bxcommunicatio  nujoer  lata  contra  Reverendum  Patrem 
nostrum  Fratrem  Hieronymum  nulla  est :  the  excommunica- 
tion lately  pronounced  against  our  reverend  father,  Fra  Giro- 
lamo,  is  null.  Nan  observautes  eam  non peccant:  those  who 
disregard  it  are  not  committing  a  sin." 

"  I  shall  know  better  what  to  say  to  that  when  we  have 
had  the  Trial  by  Fire,"  said  the  shopkeeper. 

"  Which  doubtless  will  clear  up  everything,"  said  Tito. 
"  That  is  all  the  Latin,  —  all  the  conclusions  that  are  to  be 
proved  true  or  false  by  the  trial.  The  rest  you  can  perceive  is 
simply  a  proclamation  of  the  Signoria  in  good  Tuscan,  calling 
on  such  as  are  eager  to  walk  through  the  fire,  to  come  to  the 
Palazzo  and  subscribe  their  names.  Can  I  serve  you  further  ? 
If  not  — " 

Tito,  as  he  turned  away,  raised  his  cap  and  bent  slightly, 
with  so  easy  an  air  that  the  movement  seemed  a  natural 
prompting  of  deference. 

He  quickened  his  pace  as  he  left  the  piazza,  and  after 
two  or  three  turnings  he  paused  in  a  quiet  street  before  a  door 
at  which  he  gave  a  light  aiul  peculiar  knock.     It  was  opened 


302  ROMOLA 

by  a  young  woman  whom  he  chucked  under  the  chin  as  he 
asked  her  if  the  Padrone  was  within ;  and  he  then  passed, 
without  further  ceremony,  through  another  door  which  stood 
ajar  on  his  right  hand.  It  admitted  him  into  a  handsome 
but  untidy  room,  where  Dolfo  Spini  sat  playing  with  a  fine 
stag-hound  which  alternately  snuffed  at  a  basket  of  jiups  and 
licked  his  hands  with  that  affectionate  disregard  of  her  mas- 
ter's morals  sometimes  held  to  be  one  of  the  most  agreeable 
attributes  of  her  sex.  He  just  looked  up  as  Tito  entered,  but 
continued  his  play,  simply  from  that  disposition  to  persistence 
in  some  irrelevant  action,  by  which  slow-witted  sensual  people 
seem  to  be  continually  counteracting  their  own  purposes. 
Tito  was  patient. 

"  A  handsome  bracca  that,"  he  said  quietly,  standing 
with  his  thumbs  in  his  belt.  Presently  he  added,  in  that 
cool  liquid  tone  which  seemed  mild,  but  compelled  attention  : 
"  When  you  have  finished  such  caresses  as  cannot  possibly  be 
deferred,  my  Dolfo,  we  will  talk  of  business,  if  you  please. 
My  time,  which  I  could  wish  to  be  eternity  at  your  service, 
is  not  entirely  my  own  this  morning.'' 

"  Down,  Mischief,  down ! "  said  Spini,  with  sudden 
roughness.  "  Malediction ! "  he  added,  still  more  gruffly, 
pushing  the  dog  aside ;  then,  starting  from  his  seat,  he  stood 
close  to  Tito,  and  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  he  spoke. 

''  I  hope  your  sharp  wits  see  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  this 
business,  my  fine  necromancer,  for  it  seems  to  me  no  clearer 
than  the  bottom  of  a  sack." 

"  What  is  your  difficulty,  my  cavalier  ?  " 

"These  accursed  Frati  Minori  at  Santa  Croce.  They 
are  drawing  back  now.  Fra  Francesco  himself  seems  afraid 
of  sticking  to  his  challenge  ;  talks  of  the  Prophet  being  likely 
to  use  magic  to  get  up  a  false  miracle,  —  thinks  he  himself 
might  be  dragged  into  the  fire  and  burned,  and  the  Prophet 


RIPENING   SCHEMES  303 

might  come  out  whole  by  magic,  and  the  Church  be  none  the 
better.  And  then,  after  all  our  talking,  there  's  not  so  much 
as  a  blessed  lay  brother  who  will  offer  himself  to  pair  with 
that  pious  sheep  Fra  Domenico/^ 

"It  is  the  peculiar  stupidity  of  the  tonsured  skull  that 
prevents  them  from  seeing  of  how  little  consequence  it  is 
whether  they  are  burned  or  not,"  said  Tito.  "  Have  you 
sworn  well  to  them  that  they  shall  be  in  no  danger  of  entering 
the  fire?" 

"  No,"  said  Spini,  looking  puzzled ;  "  because  one  of  them 

will  be  obliged  to  go  in  with  Fra  Domenico,  who  thinks  it  a 
thousand  years  till  the  fagots  are  ready." 

"  Not  at  all.  Fra  Domenico  himself  is  not  likely  to  go 
in.  I  have  told  you  before,  my  Dolfo,  only  your  powerful 
mind  is  not  to  be  impressed  without  more  repetition  than 
suffices  for  the  vulgar,  —  I  have  told  you  that  now  you  have 
got  the  Signoria  to  take  up  this  affair  and  prevent  it  from 
being  hushed  up  by  Fra  Girolamo,  nothing  is  necessary  but 
that  on  a  given  day  the  fuel  should  be  prepared  in  the  piazza, 
and  the  people  got  together  with  the  expectation  of  seeing 
something  prodigious.  If,  after  that,  the  Prophet  quits  the 
piazza  without  any  appearance  of  a  miracle  on  his  side,  he  is 
ruined  with  the  people :  they  will  be  ready  to  pelt  him  out  of 
the  city,  the  Signoria  will  find  it  easy  to  banish  him  from  the 
territory,  and  his  Holiness  may  do  as  he  likes  with  him. 
Therefore,  my  Alcibiades,  swear  to  the  Franciscans  that  their 
gray  frocks  shall  not  come  within  singeing  distance  of  the 
fire." 

Spini  rubbed  the  back  of  his  head  with  one  hand,  and 
tapped  his  sword  against  his  leg  with  the  other,  to  stimulate 
his  power  of  seeing  these  intangible  combinations. 

"  But,"  he  said  presently,  looking  up  again,  "  unless  we 
fall  on  him  in  the  piazza,  when  the  people  are  in  a  rage,  and 


304  ROxMOLA 

make  an  end  of  him  and  his  lies  then  and  there,  Valori  and 
the  Salviati  and  the  Albizzi  will  take  up  arms  and  raise  a 
fight  for  him.  I  know  that  was  talked  of  when  there  was  the 
hubbub  on  Ascension  Sunday.  And  the  people  may  turn 
round  again :  there  may  be  a  story  raised  of  the  French  king 
coming  again,  or  some  other  cursed  chance  in  the  hypocrite's 
favour.     The  city  will  never  be  safe  till  he  's  out  of  it.'' 

"  He  ivill  be  out  of  it  before  long,  without  your  giving 
yourself  any  further  trouble  than  this  little  comedy  of  the 
Trial  by  Fire.  The  wine  and  the  sun  will  make  vinegar 
without  any  shouting  to  help  them,  as  your  Florentine  sages 
would  say.  You  will  have  the  satisfaction  of  delivering 
your  city  from  an  incubus  by  an  able  strategem,  instead  of 
risking  blunders  with  sword-thrusts." 

"  But  suppose  he  did  get  magic  and  the  devil  to  help 
him,  and  walk  through  the  fire  after  all  ?  "  said  Spini,  with  a 
grimace  intended  to  hide  a  certain  shyness  in  trenching  on 
this  speculative  ground.  "  How  do  you  know  there 's  noth- 
ing in  those  things  ?  Plenty  of  scholars  believe  in  them,  and 
this  Frate  is  bad  enough  for  anything." 

"  Oh,  of  course  there  are  such  things,"  said  Tito,  with  a 
shrug :  "  but  I  have  particular  reasons  for  knowing  that  the 
Frate  is  not  on  such  terms  with  the  devil  as  can  give  him  any 
confidence  in  this  affair.  The  only  magic  he  relies  on  is  his 
own  ability." 

"  Ability  ! "  said  Spini.  "  Do  you  call  it  ability  to  be 
setting  Florence  at  loggerheads  with  the  Pope  and  all  the 
powers  of  Italy,  —  all  to  keep  beckoning  at  the  French  king 
who  never  comes  ?  You  may  call  him  able,  but  I  call  him  a 
hypocrite,  who  wants  to  be  master  of  everybody,  and  get 
himself  made  Pope." 

"You  judge  with  your  usual  penetration,  my  captain, 
but  our  opinions  do  not  clash.     The  Frate,  wanting  to  be 


The  Treatise  ar/ahiM  the  Axtrologers,  by  Savonarola 


([Tradato'contra  \i  Aftrologi 


'..^ 


RIPENING   SCHEMES  305 

master,  and  to  carry  out  his  projects  against  the  Pope,  requires 
the  lever  of  a  foreign  power,  and  requires  Florence  as  a  ful- 
crum. I  used  to  think  him  a  narrow-minded  bigot ;  but  now 
I  think  him  a  shrewd  ambitious  man  who  knows  what  he  is 
aiming  at,  and  directs  his  aim  as  skilfully  as  you  direct  a  ball 
when  you  are  playing  at  maglio." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Spini,  cordially,  "  I  can  aim  a  ball." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Tito,  with  bland  gravity ;  "  and  I 
should  not  have  troubled  you  with  my  trivial  remark  on  the 
Prate's  ability,  but  that  you  may  see  how  this  will  heighten 
the  credit  of  your  success  against  him  at  Rome  and  at  Milan, 
which  is  sure  to  serve  you  in  good  stead  when  the  city  comes 
to  change  its  policy." 

"Well,  thou  art  a  good  little  demon,  and  shalt  have 
good  pay,"  said  Spini,  patronizingly ;  whereupon  he  thought 
it  only  natural  that  the  useful  Greek  adventurer  should  smile 
with  gratification  as  he  said,  — 

"  Of  course,  any  advantage  to  me  depends  entirely  on 
your  —  " 

"We  shall  have  our  supper  at  my  palace  to-night," 
interrupted  Spini,  with  a  significant  nod  and  an  affectionate 
pat  on  Tito's  shoulder,  "  and  I  shall  expound  the  new  scheme 
to  them  all." 

"  Pardon,  my  magnificent  patron,"  said  Tito ;  "  the 
scheme  has  been  the  same  from  the  first,  —  it  has  never 
varied  except  in  your  memory.  Are  you  sure  you  have 
fast  hold  of  it  now  ?  " 

Spini  rehearsed. 

"  One  thing  more,"  he  said,  as  Tito  was  hastening  away. 
"  There  is  that  sharp-nosed  notary,  Ser  Ceccone ;  he  has  been 
handy  of  late.  Tell  me,  you  who  can  see  a  man  wink  when 
you  're  behind  him,  do  you  think  I  may  go  on  making  use  of 
him  ?  " 

VOL.  II.  —  20 


S06  ROMOLA 

Tito  dared  not  say,  "  No/^  He  knew  his  companion  too 
well  to  trust  him  with  advice  when  all  Spini's  vanity  and 
self-interest  were  not  engaged  in  concealing  the  adviser. 

"Doubtless/'  he  answered,  promptly.  "  I  have  nothing 
to  say  against  Ceccone." 

That  suggestion  of  the  notary's  intimate  access  to  Spini 
caused  Tito  a  passing  twinge,  interrupting  his  amused  satis- 
faction in  the  success  with  which  he  made  a  tool  of  the  man 
who  fancied  himself  a  patron.  For  he  had  been  rather  afraid 
of  Ser  Ceccone.  Tito's  nature  made  him  peculiarly  alive 
to  circumstances  that  might  be  turned  to  his  disadvantage ; 
his  memory  was  much  haunted  by  such  possibilities,  stimulat- 
ing him  to  contrivances  by  which  he  might  ward  them  off. 
And  it  was  not  likely  that  he  should  forget  that  October 
morning  more  than  a  year  ago,  when  Romola  had  appeared 
suddenly  before  him  at  the  door  of  Nello's  shop,  and  had 
compelled  him  to  declare  his  certainty  that  Fra  Girolamo  was 
not  going  outside  the  gates.  The  fact  that  Ser  Ceccone  had 
been  a  witness  of  that  scene,  together  with  Tito's  perception 
that  for  some  reason  or  other  he  was  an  object  of  dislike  to 
the  notary,  had  received  a  new  importance  from  the  recent 
turn  of  events.  For  after  having  been  implicated  in  the 
Medicean  plots,  and  having  found  it  advisable  in  consequence 
to  retire  into  the  country  for  some  time,  Ser  Ceccone  had  of 
late,  since  his  reappearance  in  the  city,  attached  himself 
to  the  Arrabbiati,  and  cultivated  the  patronage  of  Dolfo 
Spini.  Now  that  captain  of  the  Compagnacci  was  much 
given,  when  in  the  company  of  intimates,  to  confidential  nar- 
rative about  his  own  doings  ;  and  if  Ser  Ceccone's  powers  of 
combination  were  sharpened  by  enmity,  he  might  gather 
some  knowledge  which  he  could  use  against  Tito  with  very 
unpleasant  results. 

It  would   be   pitiable  to   be    balked   in  well-conducted 


RIPENING   SCHEMES  307 

schemes  by  an  insignificant  notary ;  to  be  lamed  by  the 
sting  of  an  insect  whom  he  had  oifended  unawares.  "  But/^ 
Tito  said  to  himself,  "  the  man^s  dislike  to  me  can  be  nothing 
deeper  than  the  ill-humour  of  a  dinnerless  dog ;  I  shall  con- 
quer it  if  I  can  make  him  prosperous."  And  he  had  been 
very  glad  of  an  opportunity  which  had  presented  itself  of 
providing  the  notary  with  a  temporary  post  as  an  extra 
cancelliere  or  registering  secretary  under  the  Ten,  believ- 
ing that  with  this  sop  and  the  expectation  of  more,  the 
waspish  cur  must  be  quite  cured  of  the  disposition  to  bite 
him. 

But  perfect  scheming  demands  omniscience,  and  the 
notary's  envy  had  been  stimulated  into  hatred  by  causes 
of  which  Tito  knew  nothing.  That  evening  when  Tito, 
returning  from  his  critical  audience  with  the  Special  Coun- 
cil, had  brushed  by  Ser  Ceccone  on  the  stairs,  the  notary, 
who  had  only  just  returned  from  Pistoja,  and  learned  the 
arrest  of  the  conspirators,  was  bound  on  an  errand  which 
bore  a  humble  resemblance  to  Tito's.  He  also,  without 
giving  up  a  show  of  popular  zeal,  had  been  putting  in 
the  Medicean  lottery.  He  also  had  been  privy  to  the 
unexecuted  plot,  and  was  willing  to  tell  what  he  knew, 
bat  knew  much  less  to  tell.  He  also  would  have  been 
willing  to  go  on  treacherous  errands,  but  a  more  eligible 
agent  had  forestalled  him.  His  propositions  were  received 
coldly ;  the  council,  he  was  told,  was  already  in  possession 
of  the  needed  information,  and  since  he  had  been  thus  busy 
in  sedition,  it  would  be  well  for  him  to  retire  out  of  the  way 
of  mischief,  otherwise  the  government  might  be  obliged  to 
take  note  of  him.  Ser  Ceccone  wanted  no  evidence  to  make 
him  attribute  his  failure  to  Tito,  and  his  spite  was  the  more 
bitter  because  the  nature  of  the  case  compelled  him  to  hold 
his  peace  about  it.     Nor  was  this  the  whole  of  his  grudge 


308  ROMOLA 

against  tlie  flourishing  Meleraa.  On  issuing  from  his  hiding- 
place,  and  attaching  himself  to  the  Arrabbiati,  he  had  earned 
some  pay  as  one  of  the  spies  who  reported  information  on 
Florentine  affairs  to  the  Milanese  court ;  but  his  pay  had 
been  small,  notwithstanding  his  pains  to  write  full  letters, 
and  he  had  lately  been  apprised  that  his  news  was  seldom 
moie  than  a  late  and  imperfect  edition  of  what  was  known 
already.  Now  Ser  Ceccone  had  no  positive  knowledge  that 
Tito  had  an  underhand  connection  with  the  Arrabbiati  and 
the  Court  of  Milan,  but  he  had  a  suspicion  of  wdiich  he  chewed 
the  cud  with  as  strong  a  sense  of  flavour  as  if  it  had  been  a 
certainty. 

This  fine-grown  vigorous  hatred  could  swallow  the  feeble 
opiate  of  Tito's  favours,  and  be  as  lively  as  ever  after  it.  Why 
should  Ser  Ceccone  like  Melema  any  the  better  for  doing  him 
favours  ?  Doubtless  the  suave  secretary  had  his  own  ends  to 
serve ;  and  what  right  had  he  to  the  superior  position  which 
made  it  possible  for  him  to  show  favour  ?  But  since  he  had 
turned  his  voice  to  flattery,  Ser  Ceccone  would  pitch  his  in 
the  same  key,  and  it  remained  to  be  seen  who  would  win  at 
the  game  of  outwitting. 

To  have  a  mind  well  oiled  with  that  sort  of  argument 
which  prevents  any  claim  from  grasping  it  seems  eminently 
convenient  sometimes  :  only  the  oil  becomes  objectionable 
when  we  find  it  annointing  other  minds  on  which  we  want 
to  establish  a  hold. 

Tito,  however,  not  being  quite  omniscient,  felt  now  no 
more  than  a  passing  twinge  of  uneasiness  at  the  suggestion  of 
Ser  Ceccone's  power  to  hurt  him.  It  was  only  for  a  little 
while  that  he  cared  greatly  about  keeping  clear  of  suspicions 
and  hostility.  He  was  now  playing  his  final  game  in  Flor- 
ence, and  the  skill  he  was  conscious  of  applying  gave  him  a 
pleasure  in  it  even  apart  from  the  expected  winnings.     The 


RIPENING   SCHEMES  309 

errand  on  which  he  was  bent  to  San  Marco  was  a  stroke  in 
which  he  felt  so  much  confidence  that  he  had  already  given 
notice  to  the  Ten  of  his  desire  to  resign  his  office  at  an 
indefinite  period  within  the  next  month  or  two,  and  had  ob- 
tained permission  to  make  that  resignation  suddenly,  if  his 
affairs  needed  it,  with  the  understanding  that  Niccolb  Macchia- 
velli  was  to  be  his  provisional  substitute,  if  not  his  successor. 
He  was  acting  on  hypothetic  grounds,  but  this  was  the  sort  of 
action  that  had  the  keenest  interest  for  his  diplomatic  mind. 
From  a  combination  of  general  knowledge  concerning  Savona- 
rola's purposes  with  diligently  observed  details  he  had  framed 
a  conjecture  which  he  was  about  to  verify  by  this  visit  to  San 
.  Marco.  If  he  proved  to  be  right,  his  game  would  be  won, 
and  he  might  soon  turn  his  back  on  Florence.  He  looked 
eagerly  towards  that  consummation,  for  many  circumstances 
besides  his  own  weariness  of  the  place  told  him  that  it  was 
time  to  be  gone. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

THE    PROPHET    IN    HIS    CELL 

TITO'S  visit  to  San  Marco  had  been  announced  before- 
hand, and  he  was  at  once  conducted  by  Fra  Niccolb, 
Savonarola's  secretary,  up  the  spiral  staircase  into  the 
long  corridors  lined  with  cells,  —  corridors  where  Fra  Angel- 
ico's  frescoes,  delicate  as  the  rainbow  on  the  melting  cloud, 
startled  the  unaccustomed  eye  here  and  there,  as  if  they  had 
been  sudden  reflections  cast  from  an  ethereal  world,  where 
the  Madonna  sat  crowned  in  her  radiant  glory,  and  the  Divine 
infant  looked  forth  with  perpetual  promise. 

It  was  an  hour  of  relaxation  in  the  monastery,  and  most 
of  the  cells  were  empty.  The  light  through  the  narrow  win- 
dows looked  in  on  nothing  but  bare  walls,  and  the  hard  pallet 
and  the  crucifix.  And  even  behind  that  door  at  the  end  of  a 
long  corridor,  in  the  inner  cell  opening  from  an  ante-chamber 
where  the  Prior  usually  sat  at  his  desk  or  received  private 
visitors,  the  high  jet  of  light  fell  on  only  one  more  object 
that  looked  quite  as  common  a  monastic  sight  as  the  bare 
walls  and  hard  pallet.  It  was  but  the  back  of  a  figure  in  the 
long  white  Dominican  tunic  and  scapulary,  kneeling  with 
bowed  head  before  a  crucifix.  It  might  have  been  any  ordi- 
nary Fra  Girolamo,  who  had  nothing  worse  to  confess  than 
thinking  of  wrong  things  when  he  was  singing  in  coro,  or 
feeling  a  spiteful  joy  when  Fra  Benedetto  dropped  the  ink 
over  his  own  miniatures  in  the  breviary  he  was  illuminating, 
—  who  had  no  higher  thought  than  that  of  climbing  safely 


THE   PROPHET   IN   HIS   CELL  311 

into  Paradise  up  the  narrow  ladder  of  prayer,  fasting,  and 
obedience.  But  under  this  particular  white  tunic  there  was  a 
heart  beating  with  a  consciousness  inconceivable  to  the  aver- 
age monk,  and  perhaps  hard  to  be  conceived  by  any  man  who 
has  not  arrived  at  self-knowledge  through  a  tumultuous  inner 
life;  a  consciousness  in  which  irrevocable  errors  and  lapses 
from  veracity  were  so  entwined  with  noble  purposes  and  sin- 
cere beliefs,  in  which  self-justifying  expediency  was  so  inwoven 
with  the  tissue  of  a  great  work  which  the  whole  being  seemed 
as  unable  to  abandon  as  the  body  was  unable  to  abandon 
glowing  and  trembling  before  the  objects  of  hope  and  fear, 
that  it  was  perhaps  impossible,  whatever  course  might  be 
adopted,  for  the  conscience  to  find  perfect  repose. 

Savonarola  was  not  only  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  there 
were  Latin  words  of  prayer  on  his  lips ;  and  yet  he  was  not 
praying.  He  had  entered  his  cell,  had  fallen  on  his  knees, 
and  burst  into  words  of  supplication,  seeking  in  this  way  for 
an  influx  of  calmness  which  would  be  a  warrant  to  him  that 
the  resolutions  urged  on  him  by  crowding  thoughts  and  pas- 
sions  were  not  wresting  him  away  from  the  Divine  support ; 
but  the  previsions  and  impulses  which  had  been  at  work 
within  him  for  the  last  hour  were  too  imperious ;  and  while 
he  pressed  his  hands  against  his  face,  and  while  his  lips  were 
uttering  audibly,  "  Cor  mundum  crea  in  me,'  his  mind  was 
still  filled  with  the  images  of  the  snare  his  enemies  had  pre- 
pared for  him,  was  still  busy  with  the  arguments  by  which 
he  could  justify  himself  against  their  taunts  and  accusations. 

And  it  was  not  only  against  his  opponents  that  Savonarola 
had  to  defend  himself.  This  morning  he  had  had  new  proof 
that  his  friends  and  followers  were  as  much  inclined  to  urge 
on  the  Trial  by  Fire  as  his  enemies  :  desiring  and  tacitly  ex- 
pecting that  he  himself  would  at  last  accept  the  challenge 
and  evoke  the  long-expected  miracle  which  was  to  dissipate 


312  ROMOLA 

doubt  and  triumph  over  malignity.  Had  he  not  said  that 
God  would  declare  himseK  at  the  fitting  time  ?  And  to  the 
understanding  of  plain  Florentines,  eager  to  get  party  ques- 
tions settled,  it  seemed  that  no  time  could  be  more  fitting 
than  this.  Certainly,  if  Fra  Domenico  walked  through  the 
fire  unhurt,  thai  would  be  a  miracle,  and  the  faith  and  ardour 
of  that  good  brother  were  felt  to  be  a  cheering  augury ;  but 
Savonarola  was  acutely  conscious  that  the  secret  longing  of 
his  followers  to  see  him  accept  the  challenge  had  not  been 
dissipated  by  any  reasons  he  had  given  for  his  refusal. 

Yet  it  was  impossible  to  him  to  satisfy  them ;  and  with 
bitter  distress  he  saw  now  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  any 
longer  to  resist  the  prosecution  of  the  trial  in  Fra  Domenico's 
case.  Not  that  Savonarola  had  uttered  and  written  a  falsity 
when  he  declared  his  belief  in  a  future  supernatural  attesta- 
tion of  his  work ;  but  his  mind  was  so  constituted  that  while 
it  was  easy  for  him  to  believe  in  a  miracle  which,  being  dis- 
tant and  undefined,  was  screened  behind  the  strong  reasons 
he  saw  for  its  occurrence,  and  yet  easier  for  him  to  have 
a  belief  in  inward  miracles  such  as  his  own  prophetic  inspira- 
tion and  divinely  wrought  intuitions ;  it  was  at  the  same  time 
insurmountably  difficult  to  him  to  believe  in  the  probability 
of  a  miracle  which,  like  this  of  being  carried  unhurt  through 
the  fire,  pressed  in  all  its  details  on  his  imagination  and  in- 
volved a  demand  not  only  for  belief  but  for  exceptional 
action. 

Savonarola's  nature  was  one  of  those  in  which  opposing 
tendencies  co-exist  in  almost  equal  strength  :  the  passionate 
sensibility  which,  impatient  of  definite  thought,  floods  every 
idea  with  emotion  and  tends  towards  contemplative  ecstasy, 
alternated  in  him  with  a  keen  perception  of  outward  facts  and 
a  vigorous  practical  judgment  of  men  and  thiogs.  And  in 
this  case  of  the  Trial  by  Fire,  tlie  latter  characteristics  were 


THE   PROPHET   IN   HIS   CELL  313 

stimulated  into  unusual  activity  by  an  acute  physical  sensi- 
tiveness which  gives  overpowering  force  to  the  conception  of 
pain  and  destruction  as  a  necessary  sequence  of  facts  which 
have  already  been  causes  of  pain  in  our  experience.  The 
promptitude  with  which  men  will  consent  to  touch  red-hot 
iron  with  a  wet  finger  is  not  to  be  measured  by  their  theo- 
retic acceptance  of  the  impossibility  that  the  iron  will  burn 
them :  practical  belief  depends  on  what  is  most  strongly 
represented  in  the  mind  at  a  given  moment.  And  with  the 
Praters  constitution,  when  the  Trial  by  Fire  was  urged  on 
his  imagination  as  an  immediate  demand,  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  believe  that  he  or  any  other  man  could  walk 
through  the  flames  unhurt, — impossible  for  him  to  believe 
that  even  if  he  resolved  to  oflFer  hiraseK,  he  would  not  shrink 
at  the  last  moment. 

But  the  Florentines  were  not  likely  to  make  these  fine 
distinctions.  To  the  common  run  of  mankind  it  has  always 
seemed  a  proof  of  mental  vigour  to  find  moral  questions  easy, 
and  judge  conduct  according  to  concise  alternatives.  And 
nothing  was  likely  to  seem  plainer  than  that  a  man  who  at 
one  time  declared  that  God  would  not  leave  him  without  the 
guarantee  of  a  miracle,  and  yet  drew  back  when  it  was  pro- 
posed to  test  his  declaration,  had  said  what  he  did  not  believe. 
Were  not  Fra  Domenico  and  Fra  Mariano,  and  scores  of 
Piagnoni  besides,  ready  to  enter  the  fire?  "What  was  the 
cause  of  their  superior  courage,  if  it  was  not  their  superior 
faith?  Savonarola  could  not  have  explained  his  conduct 
satisfactorily  to  his  friends,  even  if  he  had  been  able  to  ex- 
plain it  thoroughly  to  himself.  And  he  was  not.  Our 
naked  feelings  make  haste  to  clothe  themselves  in  propo- 
sitions which  lie  at  hand  among  our  store  of  opinions,  and 
to  give  a  true  account  of  what  passes  within  us  something 
else   is   necessary  besides   sincerity,  even  when   sincerity  is 


314  ROMOLA 

unmixed.  In  these  very  moments,  when  Savonarola  was  kneel- 
ing in  audible  prayer,  he  had  ceased  to  hear  the  words  on 
his  lips.  They  were  drowned  by  argumentative  voices  within 
him  that  shaped  their  reasons  more  and  more  for  an  outward 
audience. 

"  To  appeal  to  heaven  for  a  miracle  by  a  rash  acceptance 
of  a  challenge,  which  is  a  mere  snare  prepared  for  me  by  ig- 
noble foes,  would  be  a  tempting  of  God,  and  the  appeal  would 
not  be  responded  to.  Let  the  Pope's  legate  come,  let  the  am- 
bassadors of  all  the  great  Powers  come  and  promise  that  the 
calling  of  a  General  Council  and  the  reform  of  the  Church 
shall  hang  on  the  miracle,  and  I  will  enter  the  flames,  trust- 
ing that  God  will  not  withhold  His  seal  from  that  great  work. 
Until  then  I  reserve  myself  for  higher  duties  which  are  di- 
rectly laid  upon  me :  it  is  not  permitted  to  me  to  leap  from 
the  chariot  for  the  sake  of  wrestling  with  every  loud  vaunter. 
But  Era  Domenico's  invincible  zeal  to  enter  into  the  trial 
may  be  the  sign  of  a  Divine  vocation,  may  be  a  pledge  that 
the  miracle  —  " 

But  no  !  when  Savonarola  brought  his  mind  close  to  the 
threatened  scene  in  the  piazza,  and  imagined  a  human  body 
entering  the  fire,  his  belief  recoiled  again.  It  was  not  an 
event  that  his  imagination  could  simply  see  :  he  felt  it  with 
shuddering  vibrations  to  the  extremities  of  his  sensitive  fin- 
gers. The  miracle  could  not  be.  Nay,  the  trial  itself  was 
not  to  happen :  he  was  warranted  in  doing  all  in  his  power  to 
hinder  it.  The  fuel  might  be  got  ready  in  the  piazza,  the 
people  might  be  assembled,  the  preparatory  formalities  might 
be  gone  through :  all  this  was  perhaps  inevitable  now,  and  he 
could  no  longer  resist  it  without  bringing  dishonour  on  — 
himself?  Yes,  and  therefore  on  the  cause  of  God.  But  it 
was  not  really  intended  that  the  Franciscan  should  enter  the 
fire,  and  while  he  hung  back  there  would  be  the  means  of 


THE   PROPHET  IN   HIS   CELL  315 

preventing  Era  Domenico's  entrance.  At  the  very  worst,  if 
Era  Domenico  were  compelled  to  enter,  he  should  carry  the 
consecrated  Host  with  him,  and  with  that  Mystery  in  liis 
hand,  there  might  be  a  warrant  for  expecting  that  the  ordi- 
nary effects  of  fire  would  be  stayed ;  or,  more  probably,  this 
demand  would  be  resisted,  and  might  thus  be  a  final  obstacle 
to  the  trial. 

But  these  intentions  could  not  be  avowed  :  he  must  ap- 
pear frankly  to  await  the  trial,  and  to  trust  in  its  issue. 
That  dissidence  between  inward  reality  and  outward  seeming 
was  not  the  Christian  simplicity  after  which  he  had  striven 
through  years  of  his  youth  and  prime,  and  which  he  had 
preached  as  a  chief  fruit  of  the  Divine  life.  In  the  stress  and 
heat  of  the  day,  with  cheeks  burning,  with  shouts  ringing  in 
the  ears,  who  is  so  blest  as  to  remember  the  yearnings  he  had 
in  the  cool  and  silent  morning  and  know  that  he  has  not  be- 
lied them  ? 

"  0  God,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  the  people,  —  because  they 
are  blind,  —  because  their  faith  depends  on  me.  If  I  put  on 
sackcloth  and  cast  myself  among  the  ashes,  who  will  take  up 
the  standard  and  head  the  battle  ?  Have  I  not  been  led  by  a 
way  which  I  knew  not  to  the  work  that  lies  before  me  ?  " 

The  conflict  was  one  that  could  not  end,  and  in  the  effort 
at  prayerful  pleading  the  uneasy  mind  laved  its  smart  contin- 
ually in  thoughts  of  the  greatness  of  that  task  which  there 
was  no  man  else  to  fulfil  if  he  forsook  it.  It  was  not  a  thing 
of  every  day  that  a  man  should  be  inspired  with  the  vision 
and  the  daring  that  made  a  sacred  rebel. 

Even  the  words  of  prayer  had  died  away.  He  continued 
to  kneel,  but  his  mind  was  filled  with  the  images  of  results 
to  be  felt  through  all  Europe ;  and  the  sense  of  immediate 
difficulties  was  being  lost  in  the  glow  of  that  vision,  when  the 
knocking  at  the  door  announced  the  expected  visit. 


316  ROMOLA 

Savonarola  drew  on  his  mantle  before  he  left  his  cell,  as 
was  his  custom  when  he  received  visitors ;  and  with  that  im- 
mediate response  to  any  appeal  from  without  which  belongs 
to  a  power-loving  nature  accustomed  to  make  its  power 
felt  by  speech,  he  met  Tito  with  a  glance  as  self-possessed 
and  strong  as  if  he  had  risen  from  resolution  instead  of 
conflict. 

Tito  did  not  kneel,  but  simply  made  a  greeting  of  pro- 
found deference,  which  Savonarola  received  quietly  without 
any  sacerdotal  words,  and  then  desiring  him  to  be  seated,  said 
at  once,  — 

*^Your  business  is  something  of  weight,  my  son,  that 
could  not  be  conveyed  through  others  ?  " 

"  Assuredly,  father,  else  I  should  not  have  presumed  to 
ask  it.  I  will  not  trespass  on  your  time]  by  any  proem.  I 
gathered  from  a  remark  of  Messer  Domenico  Mazzinghi  that 
you  might  be  glad  to  make  use  of  the  next  special  courier  who 
is  sent  to  France  with  despatches  from  the  Ten.  I  must  en- 
treat you  to  pardon  me  if  I  have  been  too  officious ;  but  in- 
asmuch as  Messer  Domenico  is  at  this  moment  away  at  his 
villa,  I  wished  to  apprise  you  that  a  courier  carrying  im- 
portant letters  is  about  to  depart  for  Lyons  at  daybreak 
to-morrow.*' 

The  muscles  of  Era  Girolamo^s  face  were  eminently 
under  command,  as  must  be  the  case  with  all  men  whose 
personality  is  powerful,  and  in  deliberate  speech  he  was 
habitually  cautious,  confiding  his  intentions  to  none  without 
necessity.  But  under  any  strong  mental  stimulus,  his  eyes 
were  liable  to  a  dilatation  and  added  brilliancy  that  no 
strength  of  will  could  control.  He  looked  steadily  at  Tito, 
and  did  not  answer  immediately,  as  if  he  had  to  consider 
whether  the  information  he  had  just  heard  met  any  purpose 
of  his. 


The  court  of  the  Bargello  before  its  restoration 


THE   PROPHET   IN   HIS   CELL  317 

Tito,  whose  glance  never  seemed  observant,  but  rarely  let 
anything  escape  it,  had  expected  precisely  that  dilatation  and 
flash  of  Savonarola's  eyes  which  he  had  noted  on  other  occa- 
sions. He  saw  it,  and  then  immediately  busied  himself  in 
adjusting  his  gold  fibula,  which  had  got  wrong ;  seeming  to 
imply  that  he  awaited  an  answer  patiently. 

The  fact  was  that  Savonarola  had  expected  to  receive 
this  intimation  from  Domenico  Mazzinghi,  one  of  the  Ten,  an 
ardent  disciple  of  his  whom  he  had  already  employed  to  write 
a  private  letter  to  the  Florentine  ambassador  in  France,  to 
prepare  the  way  for  a  letter  to  the  French  king  himself  in 
Savonarola's  handwriting,  which  now  lay  ready  in  the  desk  at 
his  side.  It  was  a  letter  calling  on  the  king  to  assist  in  sum- 
moning a  General  Council,  that  might  reform  the  abuses  of 
the  Church,  and  begin  by  deposing  Pope  Alexander,  who  was 
not  rightfully  Pope,  being  a  vicious  unbeliever,  elected  by 
corruption  and  governing  by  simony. 

This  fact  was  not  what  Tito  knew,  but  what  his  con- 
structive talent,  guided  by  subtle  indications,  had  led  him  to 
guess  and  hope. 

"It  is  true,  my  son,''  said  Savonarola,  quietly, —  "it  is 
true  I  have  letters  which  I  would  gladly  send  by  safe  convey- 
ance under  cover  to  our  ambassador.  Our  community  of  San 
Marco,  as  you  know,  has  affairs  in  France,  being,  among  other 
things,  responsible  for  a  debt  to  that  singularly  wise  and 
experienced  Frenchman,  Signor  Philippe  de  Comines,  on  the 
library  of  the  Medici,  which  we  purchased ;  but  I  apprehend 
that  Domenico  Mazzinghi  himself  may  return  to  the  city 
before  evening,  and  I  should  gain  more  time  for  preparation 
of  the  letters  if  I  waited  to  deposit  them  in  his  hands." 

"  Assuredly,  reverend  father,  that  might  be  better  on  all 
grounds,  except  one,  namely,  that  if  anything  occurred  to 
hinder  Messer  Domenico's  return,  the  despatch  of  the  letters 


318  ROMOLA 

would  require  either  that  I  should  corae  to  Sau  Marco  again 
at  a  late  hour,  or  that  you  should  send  them  to  me  by  your 
secretary ;  and  1  am  aware  that  you  wish  to  guard  against 
the  false  inferences  which  might  be  drawn  from  a  too  frequent 
communication  between  yourself  and  any  officer  of  the  gov- 
ernment/* In  throwing  out  this  difficulty  Tito  felt  that  the 
more  unwillingness  the  Frate  showed  to  trust  him,  the  more 
certain  he  would  be  of  his  conjecture. 

Savonarola  was  silent ;  but  while  he  kept  his  mouth 
firm,  a  slight  glow  rose  in  his  face  with  the  suppressed  excite- 
ment that  was  growing  within  him.  It  would  be  a  critical 
moment,  —  that  in  which  he  delivered  the  letter  out  of  his 
own  hands. 

"  It  is  most  probable  that  Messer  Domenico  will  return 
in  time/^  said  Tito,  affecting  to  consider  the  Frate's  determi- 
nation settled,  and  rising  from  his  chair  as  he  spoke.  "  With 
your  permission,  I  will  take  my  leave,  father,  not  to  trespass 
on  your  time  when  my  errand  is  done ;  but  as  I  may  not  be 
favoured  with  another  interview,  I  venture  to  confide  to  you 
—  what  is  not  yet  known  to  others,  except  to  the  magnificent 
Ten  —  that  I  contemplate  resigning  my  secretaryship,  and 
leaving  Florence  shortly.  Am  I  presuming  too  much  on 
your  interest  in  stating  what  relates  chiefly  to  myself?'* 

"  Speak  on,  my  son,"  said  the  Frate ;  "  I  desire  to  know 
your  prospects." 

"  I  find,  then,  that  I  have  mistaken  my  real  vocation  in 
forsaking  the  career  of  pure  letters,  for  which  I  was  brought 
up.  The  politics  of  Florence,  father,  are  worthy  to  occupy 
the  greatest  mind  —  to  occupy  yours  —  when  a  man  is  in  a 
position  to  execute  his  own  ideas ;  but  when,  like  me,  he  can 
only  hope  to  be  the  mere  instrument  of  changing  schemes,  he 
requires  to  be  animated  by  the  minor  attachments  of  a  born 
Florentine :    also,    my    wife's    unhappy    alienation    from    a 


THE   PROPHET  IN   HIS   CELL  319 

Florentine  residence  since  the  painful  events  of  August 
naturally  influences  me.     I  wish  to  join  her." 

Savonarola  inclined  his  head  approvingly. 

"  I  intend,  then,  soon  to  leave  Florence,  to  visit  the  chief 
courts  of  Europe,  and  to  widen  my  acquaintance  with  the  men 
of  letters  in  the  various  universities.  I  shall  go  first  to  the 
court  of  Hungary,  where  scholars  are  eminently  welcome ; 
and  I  shall  probably  start  in  a  week  or  ten  days.  I  have  not 
concealed  from  you,  father,  that  I  am  no  religious  enthusiast ; 
I  have  not  my  wife's  ardour ;  but  religious  enthusiasm,  as  I 
conceive,  is  not  necessary  in  order  to  appreciate  the  grandeur 
and  justice  of  your  views  concerning  the  government  of  na- 
tions and  the  Church.  And  if  you  condescend  to  intrust  me 
with  any  commission  that  will  further  the  relations  you  wish 
to  establish,  I  shall  feel  honoured.  May  I  now  take  my 
leave?" 

"  Stay,  my  son.  When  you  depart  from  Florence  I  will 
send  a  letter  to  your  wife,  of  whose  spiritual  welfare  I  would 
fain  be  assured,  for  she  left  me  in  anger.  As  for  the  letters 
to  France,  such  as  I  have  ready  —  " 

Savonarola  rose  and  turned  to  his  desk  as  he  spoke. 
He  took  from  it  a  letter  on  which  Tito  could  see,  but  not 
read,  an  address  in  the  Frate's  own  minute  and  exquisite 
handwriting,  still  to  be  seen  covering  the  margins  of  his 
Bibles.  He  took  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  enclosed  the  letter, 
and  sealed  it. 

"  Pardon  me,  father,"  said  Tito,  before  Savonarola  had 
time  to  speak,  "  unless  it  were  your  decided  wish,  I  would 
rather  not  incur  the  responsibility  of  carrying  away  the  letter. 
Messer  Domenico  Mazzinghi  will  doubtless  return,  or,  if  not, 
Fra  Niccolb  can  convey  it  to  me  at  the  second  hour  of  the 
evening,  when  I  shall  place  the  other  despatches  in  the 
courier's  hands. 


320 


ROMOLA 


"At  present,  my  son/'  said  the  Frate,  waiving  that 
point,  "  I  wish  you  to  address  this  packet  to  our  ambassa- 
dor in  your  own  handwriting,  which  is  preferable  to  my 
secretary's." 

Tito  sat  down  to  write  the  address,  while  the  Frate  stood 
by  him  with  folded  arms,  the  glow  mounting  in  his  cheek, 
and  his  lip  at  last  quivering.  Tito  rose  and  was  about  to 
move  away,  when  Savonarola  said  abruptly  :  "  Take  it,  my 
son.  There  is  no  use  in  waiting.  It  does  not  please  me 
that  Fra  Niccolb  should  have  needless  errands  to  the 
Palazzo.'^ 

As  Tito  took  the  letter,  Savonarola  stood  in  suppressed 
excitement  that  forbade  further  speech.  There  seems  to  be  a 
subtle  emanation  from  passionate  natures  like  his,  making 
their  mental  states  tell  immediately  on  others ;  when  they  are 
absentminded  and  inwardly  excited,  there  is  silence  in  the 
air. 

Tito  made  a  deep  reverence,  and  went  out  with  the  letter 
under  his  mantle. 

The  letter  was  duly  delivered  to  the  courier  and  carried 
out  of  Florence.  But  before  that  liappened  another  mes- 
senger, privately  employed  by  Tito,  had  conveyed  information 
in  cipher,  which  was  carried  by  a  series  of  relays  to  armed 
agents  of  Ludovico  Sforza,  Duke  of  Milan,  on  the  watch  for 
the  very  purpose  of  intercepting  despatches  on  the  borders  of 
the  Milanese  territory. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

THE    TRIAL    BY    FIRE 

LITTLE  more  than  a  week  after,  on  the  7th  of  April, 
.  the  great  Piazza  della  Signoria  presented  a  stranger 
spectacle  even  than  the  famous  Bonfire  of  Vanities  ; 
and  a  greater  multitude  had  assembled  to  see  it  than  had  ever 
before  tried  to  find  place  for  themselves  in  the  wide  piazza, 
even  on  the  day  of  San  Giovanni, 

It  was  near  midday,  and  since  the  early  morning  there 
had  been  a  gradual  swarming  of  the  people  at  every  coign  of 
vantage  or  disadvantage  offered  by  the  facades  and  roofs  of 
the  houses,  and  such  spaces  of  the  pavement  as  were  free  to 
the  public.  Men  were  seated  on  iron  rods  that  made  a  sharp 
angle  with  the  rising  wall,  were  clutching  slim  pillars  with 
arms  and  legs,  were  astride  on  the  necks  of  the  rough  statuary 
that  here  and  there  surmounted  the  entrances  of  the  grander 
houses,  were  finding  a  palm's-breadth  of  seat  on  a  bit  of 
architrave,  and  a  footing  on  the  rough  projections  of  the  rus- 
tic stonework,  while  they  clutched  the  strong  iron  rings  or 
staples  driven  into  the  walls  beside  them. 

For  they  were  come  to  see  a  Miracle :  cramped  limbs 
and  abraded  flesh  seemed  slight  inconveniences  with  that  pros- 
pect close  at  hand.  It  is  the  ordinary  lot  of  mankind  to  hear  of 
miracles,  and  more  or  less  to  believe  in  them ;  but  now  the 
Florentines  were  going  to  see  one.  At  the  very  least  they 
would  see  half  a  miracle ;  for  if  the  monk  did  not  come  whole 
out  of  the  fire,  they  would  see  him  enter  it,  and  infer  that  he 
was  burned  in  the  middle, 
VOL,  n.  —  21 


322  ROMOLA 

There  could  be  no  reasonable  doubt,  it  seemed,  that  the 
fire  would  be  kindled,  and  that  the  monks  would  enter  it. 
For  there,  before  their  eyes,  was  the  long  platform,  eight  feet 
broad,  and  twenty  yards  long,  with  a  grove  of  fuel  heaped  up 
terribly,  great  branches  of  dry  oak  as  a  foundation,  crackling 
thorns  above,  and  well-anointed  tow  and  rags,  known  to  make 
fine  flames  in  Florentine  illuminations.  The  platform  began 
at  the  corner  of  the  marble  terrace  in  front  of  the  Old  Palace, 
close  to  Marzocco,  the  stone  lion,  whose  aged  visage  looked 
frowningly  along  the  grove  of  fuel  that  stretched  obliquely 
across  the  piazza. 

Besides  that,  there  were  three  large  bodies  of  armed  men  : 
five  hundred  hired  soldiers  of  the  Signoria  stationed  before 
the  palace  ;  five  hundred  Compagnacci  under  Dolfo  Spini,  far 
off  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  piazza  ;  and  three  hundred  armed 
citizens  of  another  sort,  under  Marco  Salviati,  Savonarola's 
friend,  in  front  of  Orgagna's  Loggia,  where  the  Franciscans 
and  Dominicans  were  to  be  placed  with  their  champions. 

Here  had  been  much  expense  of  money  and  labour,  and 
high  dignities  were  concerned.  There  could  be  no  reasonable 
doubt  that  something  great  was  about  to  happen ;  and  it 
would  certainly  be  a  great  thing  if  the  two  monks  were  simply 
burned,  for  iu  that  case  too  God  would  have  spoken,  and  said 
very  plainly  that  Fra  Girolamo  was  not  His  prophet. 

And  there  was  not  much  longer  to  wait,  for  it  was  now 
near  midday.  Half  the  monks  were  already  at  their  post, 
and  that  half  of  the  Loggia  that  lies  towards  the  Palace  was 
already  filled  with  gray  mantles ;  but  the  other  half,  divided 
off  by  boards,  was  still  empty  of  everything  except  a  small 
altar.  The  Franciscans  had  entered  and  taken  their  places  in 
silence.  But  now,  at  the  other  side  of  the  piazza  was  heard 
loud  chanting  from  two  hundred  voices,  and  there  was  general 
satisfaction,  if  not  in  the  chanting,  at  least  in  the  evidence 


. 


THE   TRIAL   BY   FIRE  323 

that  the  Dominicans  were  come.  That  loud  chanting  repeti- 
tion of  the  prayer,  "  Let  God  arise,  and  let  His  enemies  be 
scattered/'  was  unpleasantly  suggestive  to  some  impartial  ears 
of  a  desire  to  vaunt  confidence  and  excite  dismay;  and  so 
was  the  flame-coloured  velvet  cope  in  which  Era  Domenico 
was  arrayed  as  he  headed  the  procession,  cross  in  hand,  his 
simple  mind  really  exalted  with  faith,  and  with  the  genuine 
intention  to  enter  the  flames  for  tlie  glory  of  God  and  Fra 
Girolamo.  Behind  him  came  Savonarola  in  the  white  vest- 
ment of  a  priest,  carrying  in  his  hands  a  vessel  containing  the 
consecrated  Host.  He,  too,  was  chanting  loudly ;  he,  too, 
looked  firm  and  confident,  and  as  all  eyes  were  turned  eagerly 
on  him,  either  in  anxiety,  curiosity,  or  malignity,  from  the 
moment  when  he  entered  the  piazza  till  he  mounted  the  steps 
of  the  Loggia  and  deposited  the  Sacrament  on  the  altar, 
there  was  an  intensifying  flash  and  energy  in  his  countenance 
responding  to  that  scrutiny. 

We  are  so  made,  almost  all  of  us,  that  the  false  seeming 
which  we  have  thouglit  of  with  painful  shrinking  when  before- 
hand in  our  solitude  it  has  urged  itself  on  us  as  a  necessity, 
will  possess  our  muscles  and  move  our  lips  as  if  nothing  but 
that  were  easy  when  once  we  have  come  under  the  stimulus 
of  expectant  eyes  and  ears.  And  the  strength  of  that  stimulus 
to  Savonarola  can  hardly  be  measured  by  the  experience  of 
ordinary  lives.  Perhaps  no  man  has  ever  had  a  mighty  influ- 
ence over  his  fellows  without  having  the  innate  need  to  domi- 
nate, and  tliis  need  usually  becomes  the  more  imperious  in 
proportion  as  the  complications  of  life  make  Self  inseparable 
from  a  purpose  which  is  not  selfish.  In  this  way  it  came  to 
pass  that  on  the  day  of  the  Trial  by  Fire,  the  doubleness  which 
is  the  pressing  temptation  in  every  public  career,  whether  of 
priest,  orator,  or  statesman,  was  more  strongly  defined  in 
Savonarola's  consciousness  as  the  acting  of  a  part,  than  at 


324  ROMOLA 

any  other  period  in  his  life.     He  was  struggling  not  against 
impending  martyrdom,  but  against  impending  ruin. 

Therefore  he  looked  and  acted  as  if  he  were  thoroughly 
confident,  when  all  the  while  foreboding  was  pressing  witli 
leaden  weight  on  his  heart,  not  only  because  of  the  probable 
issues  of  this  trial,  but  because  of  another  event  already 
past,  —  an  event  which  was  spreading  a  sunny  satisfaction 
through  the  mind  of  a  man  who  was  looking  down  at  the 
passion-worn  prophet  from  a  window  of  the  Old  Palace.  It 
was  a  common  turning-point  towards  which  those  widely 
sundered  lives  had  been  converging,  that  two  evenings  ago 
the  news  had  come  that  the  Florentine  courier  of  the  Ten  had 
been  arrested  and  robbed  of  all  his  despatches,  so  that 
Savonarola's  letter  was  already  in  the  hands  of  the  Duke  of 
Milan,  and  would  soon  be  in  the  hands  of  the  Pope,  not 
only  heightening  rage,  but  giving  a  new  justification  to  ex- 
treme measures.  There  was  no  malignity  in  Tito  Melema's 
satisfaction :  it  was  the  mild  self-gratulation  of  a  man  who 
has  won  a  game  that  has  employed  hypothetic  skill,  not  a 
game  tliat  has  stirred  the  muscles  and  heated  the  blood.  Of 
course  that  bundle  of  desires  and  contrivances  called  human 
nature,  when  moulded  into  the  form  of  a  plain-feature  Prate 
Predicatore,  more  or  less  of  an  impostor,  could  not  be  a 
pathetic  object  to  a  brilliant-minded  scholar  who  understood 
everything.  Yet  this  tonsured  Girolamo  with  the  high  nose 
and  large  under  lip  was  an  immensely  clever  Prate,  mixing 
with  his  absurd  superstitions  or  fabrications  very  remarkable 
notions  about  government ;  no  babbler,  but  a  man  who  could 
keep  his  secrets.  Tito  had  no  more  spite  against  him  than 
against  Saint  Dominic.  On  the  contrary,  Pra  Girolamo's  ex- 
istence had  been  highly  convenient  to  Tito  Melema,  furnishing 
him  with  that  round  of  the  ladder  from  which  he  was  about 
to  leap  on  to  a  new  and  smooth  footing  very  much  to  his 


THE  TRIAL   BY   FIRE  325 

heart's  content.  And  everything  now  was  in  forward  pre- 
paration for  that  leap  ;  let  one  more  sun  rise  and  set,  and 
Tito  hoped  to  quit  Florence.  He  had  been  so  industrious 
that  he  felt  at  full  leisure  to  amuse  himself  with  to-day's 
comedy,  which  the  thick-headed  Dolfo  Spini  could  never 
have  brought  about  for  him. 

Not  yet  did  the  loud  chanting  cease,  but  rather  swelled 
to  a  deafening  roar,  being  taken  up  in  all  parts  of  the  piazza 
by  the  Piagnoni,  who  carried  their  little  red  crosses  as  a 
badge,  and,  most  of  them,  chanted  the  prayer  for  the  con- 
fusion of  God's  enemies  with  the  expectation  of  an  answer  to 
be  given  through  the  medium  of  a  more  signal  personage 
than  Fra  Domenico.  This  good  Frate  in  his  flame-coloured 
cope  was  now  kneeling  before  the  little  altar  on  which  the 
Sacrament  was  deposited,  awaiting  his  summons. 

On  the  Franciscan  side  of  tlie  Loggia  there  was  no 
chanting  and  no  flame-colour;  only  silence  and  grayness. 
But  there  was  this  counterbalancing  difl'erence,  that  the 
Franciscans  had  two  champions  :  a  certain  Fra  Giuliano  was 
to  pair  with  Fra  Domenico,  while  the  original  champion,  Fra 
Francesco,  confided  his  challenge  to  Savonarola. 

"  Surely,"  thought  the  men  perched  uneasily  on  the  rods 
and  pillars,  "  all  must  be  ready  now.  Tliis  chanting  might 
stop,  and  w^e  should  see  better  when  the  Frati  are  moving 
towards  the  platform." 

But  the  Frati  were  not  to  be  seen  moving  yet.  Pale 
Franciscan  faces  were  looking  uneasily  over  the  boarding  at 
that  flame-coloured  cope.  It  had  an  evil  look  and  miglit  'be 
enchanted,  so  that  a  false  miracle  would  be  wrought  by 
magic.  Your  monk  may  come  whole  out  of  the  fire,  and  yet 
it  may  be  the  work  of  the  devil. 

And  now  there  was  passing  to  and  fro  between  the 
Loggia  and  the  marble  terrace  of  the  Palazzo,  and  the  roar 


326  ROMOLA 

of  chanting  became  a  little  quieter,  for  every  one  at  a  distance 
was  beginning  to  watch  more  eagerly.  But  it  soon  appeared 
that  the  new  movement  was  not  a  beginning,  but  an  obstacle 
to  beginning.  The  dignified  Florentines  appointed  to  preside 
over  this  affair  as  moderators  on  each  side,  went  in  and  out  of 
the  Palace,  and  there  was  much  debate  with  the  Franciscans. 
But  at  last  it  was  clear  that  Fra  Domenico,  conspicuous  in 
his  flame-colour,  was  being  fetched  towards  the  Palace. 
Probably  the  fire  had  already  been  kindled,  —  it  was  difficult 
to  see  at  a  distance,  —  and  the  miracle  was  going  to  begin. 

Not  at  all.  The  flame-coloured  cope  disappeared  within 
the  Palace ;  then  another  Dominican  was  fetched  away ;  and 
for  a  long  wliile  everything  went  on  as  before,  —  the  tiresome 
chanting,  which  Avas  not  miraculous,  and  Fra  Girolamo  in  his 
wiiite  vestment  standing  just  in  the  same  place.  But  at  last 
something  happened  :  Fra  Domenico  was  seen  coming  out  of 
the  Palace  again,  and  returning  to  his  brethren.  He  had 
changed  all  his  clothes  with  a  brother  monk,  but  he  was 
guarded  on  each  flank  by  a  Franciscan,  lest  coming  into  the 
vicinity  of  Savonarola  he  should  be  enchanted  again, 

"  Ah,  then,'^  thought  the  distant  spectators,  a  little  less 
conscious  of  cramped  limbs  and  hunger,  "Fra  Domenico  is 
not  going  to  enter  the  fire.  It  is  Fra  Girolamo  who  offers 
himself,  after  all.  We  shall  see  him  move  })resently,  and  if 
he  comes  out  of  the  flames  we  shall  have  a  fine  view  of 
him!" 

But  Fra  Girolamo  did  not  move,  except  with  the  ordi- 
nary action  accompanying  speech.  The  speech  was  bold  and 
firm,  perhaps  somewhat  ironically  remonstrant,  like  that  of 
Elijah  to  the  priests  of  Baal,  demanding  the  cessation  of 
these  trivial  delays.  But  speech  is  the  most  irritating  kind 
of  argument  for  those  who  are  out  of  hearing,  cramped  in  the 
limbs,  and  empty  in  the  stomach.     And  what  need  was  there 


I 


2.> 


'X  < 


i 


THE   TRIAL   BY   FIRE  327 

for  speech?  If  the  miracle  did  not  begin,  it  could  be  no 
one's  fault  but  Fra  Girolamo's,  wlio  might  put  an  end  to  all 
difficulties  bj  otfering  himself  now  the  fire  was  ready,  as  he 
had  been  forward  enough  to  do  when  there  was  no  fuel  in 
sight. 

More  movement  to  and  fro,  more  discussion ;  and  the 
afternoon  seemed  to  be  slipping  away  all  the  faster  because 
the  clouds  had  gathered,  and  changed  the  light  on  everything, 
and  sent  a  chill  through  the  spectators,  hungry  in  mind  and 
body. 

Now  it  was  the  crucifix  which  Fra  Domenico  wanted  to 
carry  into  the  fire  and  must  not  be  allowed  to  profane  in  that 
manner.  After  some  little  resistance  Savonarola  gave  way  to 
this  objection,  and  thus  had  the  advantage  of  making  one 
more  concession ;  but  he  immediately  placed  in  Fra  Domenico's 
hands  the  vessel  containing  the  consecrated  Host.  The  idea 
that  the  presence  of  the  sacred  Mystery  might  m  the  worst 
extremity  avert  the  ordinary  efi'ects  of  fire  hovered  in  his 
mind  as  a  possibility ;  but  the  issue  on  which  he  counted 
was  of  a  more  positive  kind.  In  taking  up  the  Host  he  said 
quietly,  as  if  he  were  only  doing  what  had  been  presupposed 
from  the  first,  — 

"  Since  they  are  not  willing  that  you  should  enter  with 
the  crucifix,  my  brother,  enter  simply  with  the  Sacrament." 

New  horror  in  the  Franciscans  ;  new  firmness  in  Savona- 
rola. "  It  was  impious  presumption  to  carry  the  Sacrament 
into  the  fire  :  if  it  were  burned  the  scandal  would  be  great  in 
the  minds  of  the  weak  and  ignorant.'^  '^  Not  at  all :  even  if 
it  were  burned,  the  Accidents  only  would  be  consumed,  the 
Substance  would  remain."  Here  was  a  question  that  might 
be  argued  till  set  of  sun  and  remain  as  elastic  as  ever ;  and 
no  one  could  propose  settling  it  by  proceeding  to  the  trial, 
since  it  was  essentially  a  preliminary  question.     It  was  only 


328  ROMOLA 

necessary  that  both  sides  should  remain  firm,  —  that  the 
Franciscans  should  persist  in  not  permitting  the  Host  to  be 
carried  into  the  fire,  and  that  Era  Domenico  should  persist  in 
refusing  to  enter  without  it. 

Meanwhile  the  clouds  were  getting  darker,  the  air  chiller. 
Even  the  chanting  was  missed  now  it  had  given  way  to  in- 
audible argument ;  and  the  confused  sounds  of  talk  from  all 
points  of  the  piazza,  showing  that  expectation  was  everywhere 
relaxing,  contributed  to  the  irritating  ])resentiment  that  noth- 
ing decisive  would  be  done.  Here  and  there  a  dropping  shout 
was  heard;  then,  more  frequent  shouts  in  a  rising  scale  of 
scorn. 

"  Light  the  fire  and  drive  them  in  !  "  "  Let  us  have  a 
smell  of  roast,  —  we  want  our  dinner !  "  "  Come,  Prophet, 
let  us  know  whether  anything  is  to  happen  before  the  twenty- 
four  hours  are  over  !  "  "  Yes,  yes,  what 's  your  last  vision  ?  " 
"  Oh,  he 's  got  a  dozen  in  his  inside ;  they  ■'re  the  small 
change  for  a  miracle  ! "  "  Ola,  Frate,  where  are  you  ? 
Never  mind  wasting  the  fuel ! " 

Still  the  same  movement  to  and  fro  between  the  Loggia 
and  the  Palace ;  still  the  same  debate,  slow  and  unintelligible 
to  the  multitude  as  the  colloquies  of  insects  that  touch  anten- 
nfe  to  no  other  apparent  effect  than  that  of  going  and  coming. 
But  an  interpretation  was  not  long  wanting  to  unheard  de- 
bates in  which  Fra  Girolamo  was  constantly  a  speaker  :  it  was 
he  who  was  hindering  the  trial ;  everybody  was  appealing  to 
him  now,  and  he  was  hanging  back. 

Soon  the  shouts  ceased  to  be  distinguishable,  and  were 
lost  in  an  uproar  not  simply  of  voices,  but  of  clashing  metal 
and  trampling  feet.  The  suggestions  of  the  irritated  people 
had  stimulated  old  impulses  in  Dolfo  Spini  and  his  band  of 
Compagnacci;  it  seemed  an  opportunity  not  to  be  lost  for 
putting  an  end  to  Florentine  difficulties  by  getting  possession 


THE  TRIAL   BY   FIRE  329 

of  the  arch-hypocrite's  person ;  and  there  was  a  vigorous  rush 
of  the  armed  men  towards  the  Loggia,  thrusting  the  people 
aside,  or  driving  them  on  to  the  file  of  soldiery  stationed  in 
front  of  the  Palace.  At  this  movement  everything  was  sus- 
pended, both  with  monks  and  embarrassed  magistrates,  except 
the  palpitating  watch  to  see  what  would  come  of  the  struggle. 

But  the  Loggia  was  well  guarded  by  the  band  under  the 
brave  Salviati;  the  soldiers  of  the  Signoria  assisted  in  the 
repulse;  and  the  trampling  and  rushing  were  all  backward 
again  towards  the  Tetto  de'  Pisani,  when  the  blackness  of  the 
heavens  seemed  to  intensify  in  this  moment  of  utter  confu- 
sion ;  and  the  rain,  which  had  already  been  felt  in  scattered 
drops,  began  to  fall  with  rapidly  growing  violence,  wetting 
the  fuel,  and  running  in  streams  off  the  platform,  wetting  the 
weary  hungry  people  to  the  skin,  and  driving  every  man's 
disgust  and  rage  inwards  to  ferment  there  in  the  damp 
darkness. 

Everybody  knew  now  that  the  Trial  by  Fire  was  not  to 
happen.  The  Signoria  was  doubtless  glad  of  the  rain,  as  an 
obvious  reason,  better  than  any  pretext,  for  declaring  that 
both  parties  might  go  home.  It  was  the  issue  which  Savon- 
arola had  expected  and  desired;  yet  it  would  be  an  ill  de- 
scription of  what  he  felt  to  say  that  he  was  glad.  As  that 
rain  fell,  and  plashed  on  the  edge  of  the  Loggia,  and  sent 
spray  over  the  altar  and  all  garments  and  faces,  the  Frate 
knew  that  the  demand  for  him  to  enter  the  fire  was  at  an  end. 
But  he  knew,  too,  with  a  certainty  as  irresistible  as  the  damp 
chill  that  had  taken  possession  of  his  frame,  that  the  design  of 
his  enemies  was  fulfilled,  and  that  his  honour  was  not  saved. 
He  knew  that  he  should  have  to  make  his  way  to  San  Marco 
again  through  the  enraged  crowd,  and  that  the  hearts  of  many 
friends  who  would  once  liave  defended  him  with  their  lives 
would  now  be  turned  against  him. 


330  ROMOLA 

When  the  rain  had  ceased,  he  asked  for  a  guard  from 
the  Signoria,  and  it  was  given  him.  Had  he  said  that  he 
was  willing  to  die  for  the  work  of  his  life  ?  Yes,  and  he  had 
not  spoken  falsely.  But  to  die  in  dishonour,  —  held  up  to 
scorn  as  a  hypocrite  and  a  false  prophet  ?  "0  God  !  that  is 
not  martyrdom  !  It  is  the  blotting  out  of  a  life  that  has  been 
a  protest  against  wrong.  Let  me  die  because  of  the  worth 
that  is  in  me,  not  because  of  my  weakness.'^ 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  light  from  the  breaking 
clouds  fell  on  Savonarola  as  he  left  the  Loggia  in  the  midst 
of  his  guard,  walking  as  he  had  come,  with  the  Sacrament  in 
his  hand.  But  there  seemed  no  glory  in  the  light  that  fell  on 
him  now,  no  smile  of  heaven :  it  was  only  that  light  which 
shines  on,  patiently  and  impartially,  justifying  or  condemning 
by  simply  showing  all  things  in  the  slow  history  of  their 
ripening.  He  heard  no  blessing,  no  tones  of  pity,  but  only 
taunts  and  threats.  He  knew  this  was  a  foretaste  of  coming 
bitterness;  yet  his  courage  mounted  under  all  moral  attack, 
and  he  showed  no  sign  of  dismay. 

"  Well  parried,  Frate ! "  said  Tito,  as  Savonarola  de- 
scended the  steps  of  the  Loggia.  "  But  I  fear  your  career  at 
Florence  is  ended.     What  say  you,  my  Niccolo  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  pity  his  falsehoods  were  not  all  of  a  wise  sort,*' 
said  Macchiavelli,  with  a  melancholy  shrug.  "  With  the 
times  so  much  on  his  side  as  they  are  about  Church  affairs,  he 
might  have  done  something  great.*' 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

A    MASQUE    OF   THE    FURIES 

THE  next  day  was  Palm  Sunday,  or  Olive  Sunday,  as  it 
was  chiefly  called  in  the  olive-growing  Valdarno ;  and 
the  morning  sun  shone  with  a  more  delicious  clearness 
for  the  yesterday's  rain.  Once  more  Savonarola  mounted  the 
pulpit  in  San  Marco,  and  saw  a  flock  around  him  whose  faith 
in  hun  was  still  unshaken ;  and  this  morning  in  calm  and  sad 
sincerity  he  declared  himself  ready  to  die  :  in  front  of  all 
visions  he  saw  his  own  doom.  Once  more  he  uttered  the 
benediction,  and  saw  the  faces  of  men  and  women  lifted 
towards  him  in  venerating  love.  Then  he  descended  the 
steps  of  the  pulpit  and  turned  away  from  that  sight  forever. 

For  before  the  sun  had  set  Florence  was  in  an  uproar. 
The  passions  which  had  been  roused  the  day  before  had  been 
smouldering  through  that  quiet  morning,  and  had  now  burst 
out  again  with  a  fury  not  unassisted  by  design,  and  not  with- 
out official  connivance.  The  uproar  had  begun  at  the  Duorao 
in  an  attempt  of  some  Compagnacci  to  hinder  the  evening 
sermon,  which  the  Piagnoni  had  assembled  to  hear.  But  no 
sooner  had  men's  blood  mounted  and  the  disturbances  had 
become  an  affray  than  the  cry  arose,  "  To  San  Marco !  the 
fire  to  San  Marco  ! " 

And  long  before  the  dayhght  had  died,  both  the  churcli 
and  convent  were  being  besieged  by  an  enraged  and  continu- 
ally increasing  multitude.  Not  without  resistance.  For  the 
monks,  long  conscious  of  growing  hostility  without,  had  arms 
within  their  walls,  and  some  of  them  fought  as  vigorously  in 


332  ROMOLA 

their  long  white  tunics  as  if  they  had  been  Knights  Templars. 
Even  the  command  of  Savonarola  could  not  prevail  against 
the  impulse  to  self-defence  in  arms  that  were  still  muscular 
under  the  Dominican  serge.  There  were  laymen  too  who  had 
not  chosen  to  depart,  and  some  of  them  fought  fiercely ;  there 
was  firing  from  the  high  altar  close  by  the  great  crucifix, 
there  was  pouring  of  stones  and  hot  embers  from  the  convent 
roof,  there  M'as  close  fighting  with  swords  in  the  cloisters. 
Notwithstanding  the  force  of  the  assailants,  the  attack  lasted 
till  deep  night. 

The  demonstrations  of  the  government  had  all  been 
against  the  convent ;  early  in  the  attack  guards  had  been  sent 
for,  not  to  disperse  the  assailants,  but  to  command  all  within 
the  convent  to  lay  down  their  arms,  all  laymen  to  depart  from 
it,  and  Savonarola  himself  to  quit  the  Florentine  territory 
within  twelve  hours.  Had  Savonarola  quitted  the  convent 
then,  he  could  hardly  have  escaped  being  torn  to  pieces ;  he 
was  willing  to  go,  but  his  friends  hindered  him.  It  was  felt 
to  be  a  great  risk  even  for  some  laymen  of  high  name  to 
depart  by  the  garden  wall ;  but  among  those  who  had  chosen 
to  do  so  was  Francesco  Yalori,  who  hoped  to  raise  rescue 
from  without. 

And  now  when  it  was  deep  night  —  when  the  struggle 
could  hardly  have  lasted  much  longer,  and  the  Compagnacci 
might  soon  have  carried  their  swords  into  the  library,  where 
Savonarola  was  praying  with  the  Brethren  who  had  either  not 
taken  up  arms  or  had  laid  them  down  at  his  command  — 
there  came  a  second  body  of  guards,  commissioned  by  the 
Signoria  to  demand  the  persons  of  Fra  Girolamo  and  his  two 
coadjutors,  Fra  Domenico  and  Fra  Salvestro. 

Loud  was  the  roar  of  triumphant  hate  when  the  light  of 
lanterns  showed  the  Frate  issuing  from  the  door  of  the  convent 
with  a  guard  who  promised  him  no  other  safety  than  that  of 


The  Bible  of  Savonarola  with  his  marginal  notes 


j j/«v«~''<^'^<'>'  e<bubi3mi!irfllici'.'  IRuqaid  mDlri 


.       .  THon  cfl  Tub  terra  poteftas  qac  topa* 

t* 5"-^^^"^?  pUcabitadtepccJioutloquetribimol    rcrurd:q  facniaclt  vtnuUujtimcrrt. 
II^/TTL  ^luj.-'  innquid  tenet  tccn  |>acni:  -j  accipi    i©mc  fublitnc  v idcr.  ipfc  eft  rcj:  Tuper 
I  ^(,^„.JL.^^u-3eriPuurcinpifnunRuqiudillude9     ^r^^vniucrroofilioeruBbic.     42 
;  w^^t'W^i^itnqfiauuaiinisabiseujandlliotuiaf  /|*~^  jEfpodcsautCiiobDnoiPint: 
1  "^^S^^/a-^"*  -Coadf t  cc  amin:  oiuidc t  lUfi  ncgoda    I   ^^ao  qz  ou  p6tC5:i  nulla  k  la 


io.@uis  eft  lite  q  eclat  pfiliii 


"^/'iw.l 


-"^'fJu^^^-'itoics^iHunquid  iplcbie  fagcnae  pclk 


2luditu  aarteaudiui  te:nuc  at  oculus 
me'rid£ttc.3da recipe  me  rcpbedo; 
1  ago  pntam  i  fauUla  1  dncre.TJiolt^ 
afitloeuf'cfl  0159*113  bee  ad  iob:0)^ 
ad  clipba  tbemanitc'rjrat'  e  furoi  mc 
usm  te:  1  iouoeamieos  tue>6:  qm  no 
cftis  locuti  toia  mc  reerfi  fieut  f  u'me' 


f  m  rf-J[ijC/^ciU3  frultrabirur  my.i  ndenaboe  cfi' 
•  '  '     '•  >A'>!;i^<^V''tn9PJeopit3bitur.  41 

,  J  (anqfiCTudclisfurdtabocuj. 
i  iL^kxo.QcJ^  X^^uie  enmi  rcftllCTc  pot  vultui 
r  'T^f^^^-J.-^^^^Si'i^Q  an  Dedit  mibin  redda  eii 
I  '^^'^'i^J^tT'*^  '^  4  fi^^  fflo  funt:mc3  funt.lRd  par 

'T^'l]!5vriC*viI!)'^"^rbieporctib^aadDcp;ccadu^    _ 

"^  ^(4  4^r  copcvfitie.^uis  rcuclabit  facie'  idume-    iob.Sumitc  g  robig  feptc  tauros  1  fc . 
"*■"  ,  .,     .  .  ptcanetcs:iitcadfuiimeuiob:'Zof-' 

fertc  boloeauflu  ^  vobis.  3ob  at  Pu' 
'oiabit  jj  robie.'f  aeicei  fufeipia: 
10  robis  iputet  llultitiJ.TRcq?.n.lo 

.^  .  „ — ^--..    jeth9C0!amereetD:ricutfti'mcu9 

,  u^f.  yZjjj^t^f  fpiraculii  quidc  inccdit  p  cas.  Qtia    iob.abicf  t  §  clipba  tbcmaitcs  «  bal- 

,-/-A^  -w-v^altcri  adixrebit;  ■:  tenctc^  le  nequa$    dart?  fuitea  1  fopbar  naamaibite9:i  fc 

'j^^^^l^^Zs^f^P^i^^^'i^-^Kmiumo  ciTplcndo:    ecf  t  ficut  locutTucrat  ona  ad  cqi:  1  fa 


i'-^;j';f  j-7r^*nau8:iin  mediu5ons  ci' quie intra 
[  siij^*tt^^>  l^it'lP^oitas  ru]ru9ciusqme  apcnct^ 


fecpitrntitaeieiob.  BneqHCxppucr- 
fue  c  ad  penitcni  10b:  en  ourct  ille  p 
amiei9fui3.il;taddiditcn6oia  qcncs 
fucrac  iob  ouplida.  'acnef  t  at  ad  cu5 
oc3  free  rui:i  vninfc  foioicafut  t  tun 
tti  q  noucratcn  pus:  1  comcdcrfit  cuj 


f  .i?»-./'-  <— <r  (trmscf  qfi  mjlcaroaa  ieus.<:u  fubb'    JDneii  bndtrit  nouifiimie  iob  magia 

\,.y.^  '^r^'JrT.  fu3fucrit:tjmebiu  agcU:-:  tcrritipur-     $ pndpio ci'-t't tacri  fntci  q  mo:de 

''J^j3^J!jS^^''aaiT.<:\i  appbcdcrit  en  gbdi?fub    ci^  milia  ouiiTw  fee  milia  cjmelctzo:  1 


_  ignie:  1  oeuli  ems  vt  p3lpeb:c  otlueu' 
'  lt.®e  o:e  ei*  Lipadcs jjccdijt ficut  tc- 

.^^'i,;^'ww~*•'^'^  'S"'^  accenrc:0€  nanb^cme  ^cedit 
{ ♦li-^ZJ-f.-  ;/«'<.^um'Yia)t  ollc  fucccfe  atcg  femcnq.fea 
I  .,*«(^  ^»* . /u^--  tjtus ci'p'.unas  ardcre  faat;  1  flama  d 
I  r*'t<v£^'-(r(^02e cCcgrcdit.Jn collo ci' moabitur 

I  ^^!:!^XZ^.v^fo^(mk'iifmr}ei''pieccdK  copanc" in Domi5ci''. fitmoueftfuE 

I -,^A<  .^ii^uilX^cbia camiu  ei'cobtTdria  fibi.  Oiit  ca  aput-.i  pfolati  funt cu fug oi  malo 

ir^^^'^.Vf  'f  f  Z^'^  ^"  fulmiaw  ad  locfi  aim  no  fC'  q6  iiulaat  Pita  fijpcr  en:  1  ocderat  et 

^•*  !?,«•«  r  J7i';'-'»f  •■COA""'"'lurabif  tangp  lapis:  ct  vnufqfq?  out  rna:  1  iaurc  aurca  vna. 

,r.,Mr-    T  -,   ft,.„„,F^fi^,, .,.-„„  ^.,r..uu  •^^--*— — itnouifiimisiob magis 

'•■t't  tacri  nitci  q  cuo:de 

^^, , ...  ^  ...    :':fecmilijcjmclc»zo:'r 

i'JwT<.rf-»/'*'-*>->  '"'^^  ""  potcnt;ncc  b3ltj:uei.'B tozar.  milleiuga  bou  ■:  millc  jrme:i  fucrunt 

k,^^  u-r't'-'f*"'  TReputabit  cnt  qu jfi  palcaa  ferrii;i  q-  ci  fcptc  filij  1  nee  filic.  -ft  vocauit  no- 

[«-*/j~aj^':«9; '  filtgnn  putridu  ce.nionfugabitcum  mc  pni''Dic':i  nomd  fc6ca(f\i:  1  notfi 

' '  "Z^^'^s^"'  .'a5irtariu6:m  (lipubs  mfi  funt  d  fn<  eoznufhbg.  1H6  (nt  a't  iuctc  mulic 

C'  iii/.-*.^^;'^P'°"  lundcQu-Tfi  Hipuli  dlimabit  res  fpcaofc  fwit  fiUc  iob  •'  rniiira  fra. 

i«..v .^.«/«"^  ^mallau'i ocrridcbit  vibdcc; baftam.  Scducp eigpatcr .uneba editjcc  iter 

r 'T*"^S^f7~-  ^"''!P'° ^"f  "'^9 '<5l'6:'z rtcrnctfibi  free car.s:ntatiob port ftjucUa  Lkq 

KH^,  fif^vww.^"™  qfi  Intuj.f  crucfccrc  fadct  quafi  terii  qdragita  annis:':  vidit  fi'lios  fiioa 

L,w^  ,u,^^^.u<-^\Vi}  pfundil  mms:  1  ponct  quafi  cn  1  filios  filiop  fnos  rfip  ad  qrtii  giiati- 

''-T',''7r'L*wigncta  bulIint.'iC>o(t  cii  luccbit  fcmi  onr.i  momms  ei^  fence  1  plen'  Dits. 

ZiiT.Ci?ife!w^"abvfi-u5 quafi rcntfcctcm.  ^         jSjpUatiibcrSob. 


S.9 


(>»/>/'. 
//•«•<** 


itM-i:^ 


if  <«»<.:  «r^. 


From  the  original  in  the  Jiiccardiana  Library 


A   MASQUE   OF  THE   FURIES  333 

the  prison.  The  struggle  now  was,  who  should  get  first  in 
the  stream  that  rushed  up  the  narrow  street  to  see  the  Prophet 
carried  back  in  ignominy  to  the  piazza  where  he  had  braved  it 
yesterday,  —  who  should  be  in  the  best  place  for  reaching  his 
ear  with  insult,  nay,  if  possible,  for  smiting  him  and  kicking 
him.  This  was  not  difficult  for  some  of  the  armed  Com- 
pagnacci  who  were  not  prevented  from  mixing  themselves 
with  the  guards. 

When  Savonarola  felt  himself  dragged  and  pushed  along 
in  the  midst  of  that  hooting  multitude ;  when  lanterns  were 
lifted  to  show  him  deriding  faces ;  when  he  felt  himself  spit 
upon,  smitten  and  kicked  with  grossest  words  of  insult,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  the  worst  bitterness  of  life  was  past.  If 
men  judged  him  guilty,  and  were  bent  on  having  his  blood, 
it  was  only  death  that  awaited  him.  But  the  worst  drop  of 
bitterness  can  never  be  wrung  on  to  our  lips  from  without : 
the  lowest  depth  of  resignation  is  not  to  be  found  in  martyr- 
dom ;  it  is  only  to  be  found  when  we  have  covered  our  heads 
in  silence  and  felt,  "  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  a  martyr ;  the 
Truth  shall  prosper,  but  not  by  me.^^ 

But  that  brief  imperfect  triumph  of  insulting  the  Frate, 
who  had  soon  disappeared  under  the  doorway  of  the  Old 
Palace,  was  only  like  the  taste  of  blood  to  the  tiger.  Were 
there  not  the  houses  of  the  hypocrite's  friends  to  be  sacked  ? 
Already  one  half  of  the  armed  multitude,  too  much  in  the 
rear  to  share  greatly  in  the  siege  of  the  convent,  had  been 
employed  in  the  more  profitable  work  of  attacking  rich  houses, 
not  with  planless  desire  for  plunder,  but  with  that  discrimi- 
nating selection  of  such  as  belongeJ  to  chief  Piagnoni,  which 
showed  that  the  riot  was  under  guidance,  and  that  the  rabble 
with  clubs  and  staves  was  well  officered  by  sword-girt  Com- 
pagnacci.  Was  there  not  —  next  criminal  after  the  Frate  — 
the  ambitious  Francesco  Valori,  suspected  of  wanting  with 


334  ROMOLA 

the  Frate's  help,  to  make  himself  a  Doge  or  Gonfaloniere  for 
life  ?  And  the  gray-haired  man  who  eight  months  ago  had 
lifted  his  arm  and  his  voice  in  such  ferocious  demand  for 
justice  on  five  of  his  fellow-citizens,  only  escaped  from  San 
Marco  to  experience  what  others  called  justice,  —  to  see  his 
house  surrounded  by  an  angry,  greedy  multitude,  to  see  his 
wife  shot  dead  with  an  arrow,  and  to  be  himself  murdered, 
as  he  was  on  his  way  to  answer  a  summons  to  the  Palazzo,  by 
the  swords  of  men  named  Ridolfi  and  Tornabuoni. 

In  this  way  that  Masque  of  the  Furies,  called  Riot,  was 
played  on  in  Florence  through  the  hours  of  night  and  early 
morning. 

But  the  chief  director  was  not  visible  :  he  had  his 
reasons  for  issuing  his  orders  from  a  private  retreat,  being  of 
rather  too  high  a  name  to  let  his  red  feather  be  seen  waving 
among  all  the  work  that  was  to  be  done  before  the  dawn. 
The  retreat  was  the  same  house  and  the  same  room  in  a  quiet 
street  between  Santa  Croce  and  San  Marco,  where  we  have 
seen  Tito'  paying  a  secret  visit  to  Dolfo  Spini.  Here  the 
Captain  of  the  Compagnacci  sat  through  this  memorable 
night,  receiving  visitors  who  came  and  went,  and  went  and 
came,  some  of  them  in  the  guise  of  armed  Compagnacci,  others 
dressed  obscurely  and  without  visible  arms.  There  was  abun- 
dant wine  on  the  table,  with  drinking-cups  for  chance  comers  ; 
and  though  Spini  was  on  his  guard  against  excessive  drink- 
ing, he  took  enough  from  time  to  time  to  heighten  the  excite- 
ment produced  by  the  news  that  was  being  brought  to  him 
continually. 

Among  the  obscurely  dressed  visitors  Ser  Ceccone  was 
one  of  the  most  frequent ;  and  as  the  hours  advanced  towards 
the  morning  twilight  he  had  remained  as  Spini's  constant 
companion,  together  with  Francesco  Cei,  who  was  then 
in    rather   careless   hiding   in   Florence,  expecting   to   have 


A   MASQUE   OF  THE   FURIES  335 

his   banishment   revoked   when   the   Frate's   fall   had   been 
accomplished. 

The  tapers  had  burnt  themselves  into  low  shapeless 
masses,  and  holes  in  the  shutters  were  just  marked  by  a 
sombre  outward  light,  when  Spini,  who  had  started  from  his 
seat  and  walked  up  and  down  with  an  angry  flush  on  his 
face  at  some  talk  that  had  been  going  forward  with  those  two 
unmilitary  companions,  burst  out,  — 

"  The  devil  spit  him  !  he  shall  pay  for  it,  though  !  Ha, 
ha !  the  claws  shall  be  down  on  him  when  he  little  thinks  of 
them.  So  ke  was  to  be  the  great  man,  after  all !  He  's 
been  pretending  to  chuck  everything  towards  my  cap,  as  if  I 
were  a  blind  beggarman,  and  all  the  while  he  's  been  winking 
and  filling  his  own  scarsella.  I  should  like  to  hang  skins 
about  him  and  set  my  hounds  on  him  !  And  he 's  got  that 
fine  ruby  of  mine,  I  was  fool  enough  to  give  him  yesterday. 
Malediction  !  And  he  was  laughing  at  me  in  his  sleeve  two 
years  ago,  and  spoiling  the  best  plan  tliat  ever  was  laid.  I 
was  a  fool  for  trusthig  myself  with  a  rascal  who  had  long- 
twisted  contrivances  that  nobody  could  see  to  the  end  of  but 
himself.'^ 

"  A  Greek,  too,  who  dropped  into  Florence  with  gems 
packed  about  him,"  said  Francesco  Cei,  who  had  a  slight 
smile  of  amusement  on  his  face  at  Spini's  fuming.  ''  You 
did  not  choose  your  confidant  very  wisely,  my  Dolfo." 

"  He 's  a  cursed  deal  cleverer  than  you,  Francesco,  and 
handsomer  too,"  said  Spini,  turning  on  his  associate  with  a 
general  desire  to  worry  anything  that  presented  itself. 

"  I  humbly  conceive,"  said  Ser  Ceccone,  "  that  Messer 
Francesco^s  poetic  genius  will  outweigh  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  rub  your  hands  !  I  hate  that  notary's  trick 
of  yours,"  interrupted  Spini,  whose  patronage  consisted 
largely  in  this  sort  of  frankness,     "  But  there  comes  Taddeo, 


336 


ROMOLA 


or  somebod)' ;  now  's  the  time  !  What  news,  eh  ?  "  he  went 
on,  as  two  Compaguacci  entered  with  heated  looks. 

"  Bad  ! "  said  one.  "  The  people  have  made  up  their 
minds  they  were  going  to  have  tiie  sacking  of  Soderini's 
liouse,  and  now  they  have  been  balked  we  shall  have  them 
turning  on  us,  if  we  don't  take  care.  I  suspect  there  are 
some  Mediceans  buzzing  about  among  them,  and  we  may  see 
them  attacking  your  palace  over  the  bridge  before  long,  un- 
less we  can  find  a  bait  for  them  another  way." 

"  I  have  it !  "  said  Spini ;  and  seizing  Taddeo  by  the 
belt,  he  drew  him  aside  to  give  him  directions,  while  the 
other  went  on  telling  Cei  how  the  Signoria  had  interfered 
about  Soderini's  house. 

"  Ecco ! "  exclaimed  Spini,  presently,  giving  Taddeo  a 
slight  push  towards  the  door.  "  Go,  and  make  quick 
work." 


I 


CHAPTER  XL VII 

"WAITING    BY    THE    EIVER 

A  BOUT  the  time  when  the  two  Compagnacci  went  on 
/-\  their  errand,  there  was  another  man  who,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Amo,  was  also  going  out  into 
the  chill  gray  twilight.  His  errand,  apparently,  could  have 
no  relation  to  theirs;  he  was  making  his  way  to  the  brink  of 
the  river  at  a  spot  which,  though  within  the  city  walls,  was 
overlooked  by  no  dwellings,  and  which  only  seemed  the  more 
shrouded  and  lonely  for  the  warehouses  and  granaries  which 
at  some  little  distance  backward  turned  their  shoulders  to  the 
river.  There  was  a  sloping  width  of  long  grass  and  rushes 
made  all  the  more  dank  by  broad  gutters  which  here  and  there 
emptied  themselves  into  the  Arno. 

The  gutters  and  the  loneliness  were  the  attraction  that 
drew  this  man  to  come  and  sit  down  among  the  grass,  and 
bend  over  the  waters  that  ran  swiftly  in  the  channelled  slope 
at  his  side.  For  he  had  once  had  a  large  piece  of  bread 
brought  to  him  by  one  of  those  friendly  runlets,  and  more 
than  once  a  raw  carrot  and  apple-parings.  It  was  worth 
while  to  wait  for  such  chances  in  a  place  where  there  was  no 
one  to  see,  and  often  in  his  restless  wakefulness  he  came  to 
watch  here  before  daybreak  ;  it  might  save  him  for  one  day 
the  need  of  that  silent  begging  which  consisted  in  sitting  on 
a  church-step  by  the  wayside  out  beyond  the  Porta  San 
Frediano. 

For  Baldassarre  hated  begging  so  much  that  he  would 
perhaps  have  chosen  to  die  rather  than  make  even  that  silent 
VOL.  II.  —  22  I 


338 


ROMOLA 


appeal,  but  for  one  reason  that  made  him  desire  to  live.  It 
was  no  longer  a  hope;  it  was  only  that  possibility  which 
clings  to  every  idea  that  has  taken  complete  possession  of  the 
mind,  —  the  sort  of  possibility  that  makes  a  woman  watch 
on  a  headland  for  the  ship  which  held  something  dear,  though 
all  her  neighbours  are  certain  that  the  ship  was  a  wreck  long 
years  ago.  After  he  had  come  out  of  the  convent  hospital, 
where  the  monks  of  San  Miniato  had  taken  care  of  him  as 
long  as  he  was  helpless  ;  after  he  had  watched  in  vain  for  the 
Wife  who  was  to  help  him,  and  had  begun  to  think  that  she 
was  dead  of  the  pestilence  that  seemed  to  fill  all  the  space 
since  the  night  he  parted  from  her,  he  had  been  unable  to 
conceive  any  way  in  which  sacred  vengeance  could  satisfy 
itself  through  his  arm.  His  knife  was  gone,  and  he  was  too 
feeble  in  body  to  win  another  by  work,  too  feeble  in  mind, 
even  if  he  had  had  the  knife,  to  contrive  that  it  should  serve 
its  one  purpose.  He  was  a  shattered,  bewildered,  lonely  old 
man ;  yet  he  desired  to  live  :  he  waited  for  something  of 
which  he  had  no  distinct  vision  —  something  dim,  formless  — 
that  startled  him,  and  made  strong  pulsations  within  him, 
like  that  unknown  thing  which  we  look  for  when  we  start 
from  sleep,  though  no  voice  or  touch  has  waked  us.  Baldas- 
sarre  desired  to  live ;  and  therefore  he  crept  out  in  the  gray 
light,  and  seated  himself  in  the  long  grass,  and  watched  the 
waters  that  had  a  faint  promise  in  them. 

Meanwhile  the  Compagnacci  were  busy  at  their  work. 
The  formidable  bands  of  armed  men,  left  to  do  their  will  with 
very  little  interference  from  an  embarrassed  if  not  conniving 
Signoria,  had  parted  into  two  masses,  but  both  were  soon 
making  their  way  by  different  roads  towards  the  Arno.  The 
smaller  mass  was  making  for  the  Ponte  Rubaconte,  the  larger 
for  the  Ponte  Vecchio;  but  in  both  the  same  words  had 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  as  a  signal,  and  almost  every 


WAITING   BY   THE   RIVER  339 

man  of  the  multitude  knew  that  he  was  going  to  the  Via  de' 
Bardi  to  sack  a  house  there.  If  he  knew  no  other  reason, 
could  he  demand  a  better  ? 

The  armed  Compagnacci  knew  something  more,  for  a 
brief  word  of  command  flies  quickly,  and  the  leaders  of  the 
two  streams  of  rabble  had  a  perfect  understanding  that  they 
would  meet  before  a  certain  house  a  little  towards  the  eastern 
end  of  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  where  the  master  would  probably 
be  in  bed,  and  be  surprised  in  his  morning  sleep. 

But  the  master  of  that  house  was  neither  sleeping  nor  in 
bed ;  he  had  not  been  in  bed  that  night.  For  Tito's  anxiety 
to  quit  Florence  had  been  stimulated  by  the  events  of  the 
previous  day  :  investigations  would  follow  in  which  appeals 
might  be  made  to  him  delaying  his  departure ;  and  in  all 
delay  he  had  an  uneasy  sense  that  there  was  danger.  False- 
hood had  prospered  and  waxed  strong ;  but  it  had  nourished 
the  twin  life,  Fear.  He  no  longer  wore  his  armour,  he  was 
no  longer  afraid  of  Baldassarre ;  but  from  the  corpse  of  that 
dead  fear  a  spirit  had  risen,  —  the  undying  hahit  of  fear.  He 
felt  he  should  not  be  safe  till  he  was  out  of  this  fierce,  turbid 
Florence  j  and  now  he  was  ready  to  go.  Maso  was  to  deliver 
up  his  house  to  the  new  tenant ;  his  horses  and  mules  were 
awaiting  him  in  San  Gallo  ;  Tessa  and  the  children  had  been 
lodged  for  the  night  in  the  Borgo  outside  the  gate,  and  would 
be  dressed  in  readiness  to  mount  the  mules  and  join  him. 
He  descended  the  stone  steps  into  the  courtyard,  he  passed 
through  the  great  doorway,  not  the  same  Tito,  but  nearly  as 
brilliant  as  on  the  day  when  he  had  first  entered  that  house 
and  made  the  mistake  of  falling  in  love  with  Roraola.  The 
mistake  was  remedied  now ;  the  old  life  was  cast  off,  and  was 
soon  to  be  far  behind  him. 

He  turned  with  rapid  steps  towards  the  Piazza  dci  Alozzi, 
intending  to  pass  over  the  Ponte  Rubaconte  ;  but  as  lie  went 


340  ROMOLA 

along  certain  sounds  came  upon  his  ears  that  made  him  turn 
round  and  walk  yet  more  quickly  in  the  opposite  direction. 
Was  the  mob  coming  into  Oltrarno  ?  It  was  a  vexation,  for 
he  would  have  preferred  the  more  private  road.  He  must 
now  go  by  the  Ponte  Vecchio ;  and  unpleasant  sensations 
made  him  draw  his  mantle  close  round  him,  and  walk  at  his 
utmost  speed.  There  was  no  one  to  see  him  in  that  gray 
twilight.  But  before  he  reached  the  end  of  the  Via  de'  Bardi, 
like  sounds  fell  on  his  ear  again,  and  this  time  they  were  much 
louder  and  nearer.  Could  he  have  been  deceived  before? 
The  mob  must  be  coming  over  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  Again  he 
turned,  from  an  impulse  of  fear  that  was  stronger  than  reflec- 
tion ;  but  it  was  only  to  be  assured  that  the  mob  was  actually 
entering  the  street  from  the  opposite  end.  He  chose  not  to 
go  back  to  his  house :  after  all,  they  would  not  attack  Mm. 
Still,  he  had  some  valuables  about  him  ;  and  all  things  except 
reason  and  order  are  possible  with  a  mob.  But  necessity  does 
the  work  of  courage.  He  went  on  towards  the  Ponte  Vecchio, 
the  rush  and  the  trampling  and  the  confused  voices  getting 
so  loud  before  him  that  he  had  ceased  to  hear  them  behind. 

For  he  had  reached  the  end  of  the  street,  and  the  crowd 
pouring  from  the  bridge  met  him  at  the  turning  and  hemmed 
in  his  way.  He  had  not  time  to  wonder  at  a  sudden  shout 
before  he  felt  himself  surrounded,  not,  in  the  first  instance, 
by  an  unarmed  rabble,  but  by  armed  Compagnacci  ;  the  next 
sensation  was  that  his  cap  fell  ofi",  and  that  he  was  thrust 
violently  forward  among  the  rabble,  along  the  narrow  passage 
of  the  bridge.  Then  he  distinguished  the  shouts,  '^  Piagnone  ! 
Medicean  !  Piagnone  !    Throw  him  over  the  bridge  !  " 

His  mantle  was  being  torn  off  him  with  strong  pulls 
that  would  have  throttled  him  if  the  fibula  had  not  given 
way.  Then  his  scarsella  was  snntched  at ;  but  all  the  while 
he  was  being  hustled  niid  dragged;  and  the  snatch  failed, — 


WAITING    BY    THE   RIVER  341 

his  scarsella  still  hung  at  his  side.  Shouting,  yelling,  half 
motiveless  execration  rang  stunningly  in  his  cars,  spreading 
even  among  those  who  had  not  yet  seen  him,  and  only  knew 
there  was  a  man  to  be  reviled.  Tito^s  horrible  dread  was  that 
he  should  be  struck  down  or  trampled  on  before  he  reached 
the  open  arches  that  surmount  the  centre  of  the  bridge. 
There  was  one  hope  for  him,  that  they  might  throw  him  over 
before  they  had  wounded  him  or  beaten  the  strength  out  of 
him ;  and  his  whole  soul  was  absorbed  in  that  one  hope  and 
its  obverse  terror. 

Yes,  —  they  were  at  the  arches.  In  that  moment  Tito, 
with  bloodless  face  and  eyes  dilated,  had  one  of  the  self- 
preserving  inspirations  that  come  in  extremity.  With  a 
sudden  desperate  effort  he  mastered  the  clasp  of  his  belt,  and 
flung  belt  and  scarsella  forward  towards  a  yard  of  clear  space 
against  the  parapet,  crying  in  a  ringing  voice,  — 

"  There  are  diamonds  !  there  is  gold  ! " 

In  the  instant  the  hold  on  him  was  relaxed,  and  there 
was  a  rush  toward  the  scarsella.  He  threw  himself  on  the 
parapet  with  a  desperate  leap,  a!id  the  next  moment  plunged, 
—  plunged  with  a  great  plash  into  the  dark  river  far 
below. 

It  was  his  chance  of  salvation ;  and  it  was  a  good  chance. 
His  life  had  been  saved  once  before  by  his  fine  swimming, 
and  as  he  rose  to  the  surface  again  after  his  long  dive  he  had 
a  sense  of  deliverance.  He  struck  out  with  all  the  energy  of 
his  strong  prime,  and  the  current  helped  him.  If  he  could 
only  swim  beyond  the  Ponte  alia  Carrara,  he  might  land 
in  a  remote  part  of  the  city,  and  even  yet  reach  San  Gallo. 
Life  was  still  before  him.  And  the  idiot  mob,  shouting 
and  bellowing  on  the  bridge  there,  would  think  he  was 
drowned. 

They  did  think  so.     Peering  over  the  parapet  along  the 


342  ROMOLA 

dark  stream,  they  could  not  see  afar  off  the  moving  blackness 
of  the  floating  hair,  and  the  velvet  tunic-sleeves. 

It  was  only  from  the  other  way  that  a  pale  olive  face 
could  be  seen  looking  white  above  the  dark  water,  —  a  face 
not  easy  even  for  the  indifferent  to  forget,  with  its  square 
forehead,  the  long  low  arch  of  the  eyebrows,  and  the  long 
lustrous  agate-like  eyes.  Onward  the  face  went  on  the  dark 
current,  with  inflated  quivering  nostrils,  with  the  blue  veins 
distended  on  the  temples.  One  bridge  was  passed,  —  the 
bridge  of  Santa  Trinita.  Should  he  risk  landing  now  rather 
than  trust  to  his  strength  ?  No.  He  heard,  or  fancied  he 
heard,  yells  and  cries  pursuing  him.  Terror  pressed  him 
most  from  the  side  of  his  fellow-men :  he  was  less  afraid  of 
indefinite  chances,  and  he  swam  on,  panting  and  straining. 
He  was  not  so  fresh  as  he  would  have  been  if  he  had  passed 
the  night  in  sleep. 

Yet  the  next  bridge  —  the  last  bridge  —  was  passed. 
He  was  conscious  of  it ;  but  in  the  tumult  of  his  blood,  he 
could  only  feel  vaguely  that  he  was  safe  and  might  land. 
But  where  ?  The  current  was  having  its  way  with  him  : 
he  hardly  knew  where  he  was;  exhaustion  was  bringing  on 
the  dreamy  state  that  precedes  unconsciousness. 

But  now  there  were  eyes  that  discerned  him,  —  aged 
eyes,  strong  for  the  distance.  Baldassarre,  looking  up 
blankly  from  the  search  in  the  runlet  that  brought  him 
nothing,  had  seen  a  white  object  coming  along  the  broader 
stream.  Could  that  be  any  fortunate  chance  for  Jdm  ?  He 
looked  and  looked  till  the  object  gathered  form ;  then  he 
leaned  forward  with  a  start  as  he  sat  among  the  rank  green 
stems,  and  his  eyes  seemed  to  be  filled  with  a  new  light. 
Yet  he  only  watched, — motionless.  Something  was  being 
brought  to  him. 

The  next  instant  a  man's  body  was  cast  violently  on  tlie 


WAITING   BY  THE   RIVER  343 

grass  two  yards  from  hira,  and  he  started  forward  like  a 
panther,  clutching  the  velvet  tunic  as  he  fell  forward  on  the 
body  and  flashed  a  look  in  the  man's  face. 

Deadj  —  was  he  dead  ?  The  eyes  were  rigid.  But  no, 
it  could  not  be,  —  Justice  had  brought  him.  Men  looked 
dead  sometimes,  and  yet  the  life  came  back  into  them.  Bal- 
dassarre  did  not  feel  feeble  in  that  moment.  He  knew  just 
what  he  could  do.  He  got  his  large  fingers  within  the  neck 
of  the  tunic  and  held  them  there,  kneeling  on  one  knee 
beside  the  body  and  watching  the  face.  There  was  a  fierce 
hope  in  his  heart,  but  it  was  mixed  with  trembling.  In 
his  eyes  there  was  only  fierceness;  all  the  slow-burning 
remnant  of  life  within  him  seemed  to  have  leaped  into  flame. 

Rigid,  —  rigid  still.  Those  eyes  with  the  half-fallen  lids 
were  locked  against  vengeance.  Could  it  be  that  he  was 
dead?  There  was  nothing  to  measure  the  time;  it  seemed 
long  enough  for  hope  to  freeze  into  despair. 

Surely  at  last  the  eyelids  were  quivering ;  the  eyes  were 
no  longer  rigid.  There  was  a  vibrating  light  in  them ;  they 
opened  M'ide. 

"  Ah,  yes  !     You  see  me,  —  you  know  me.'' 

Tito  knew  him ;  but  he  did  not  know  whether  it  was 
life  or  death  that  had  brought  him  into  the  presence  of  his 
injured  father.  It  might  be  death,  —  and  death  might  mean 
this  chill  gloom  with  the  face  of  the  hideous  past  hanging 
over  him  forever. 

But  now  Baldassarre's  only  dread  was  lest  the  young 
limbs  should  escape  him.  He  pressed  his  knuckles  against 
the  round  throat,  and  knelt  upon  the  chest  with  all  the  force 
of  his  aged  frame.     Let  death  come  now  ! 

Again  he  kept  his  watch  on  the  face ;  aiid  when  the  eyes 
were  rigid  again,  he  dared  not  trust  them.  He  would  never 
lose  his  hold  till  some  one  came  and  found  them.     Justice 


3i4  ROMOLA 

would  send  some  witness ;  and  then  he,  Baldassarre,  would 
declare  that  he  had  killed  this  traitor,  to  whom  he  had  ouce 
been  a  father.  They  would  perhaps  believe  him  now,  and 
then  he  would  be  content  with  the  struggle  of  justice  on 
earth,  —  then  he  would  desire  to  die  with  his  hold  on  this 
body,  and  follow  the  traitor  to  hell  that  he  might  clutch  him 
there. 

And  so  he  knelt,  and  so  he  pressed  his  knuckles  against 
the  round  throat,  without  trusting  to  the  seeming  deatii,  till 
the  light  got  strong  and  he  could  kneel  no  longer.  Then  he 
sat  on  the  body,  still  clutching  the  neck  of  the  tunic.  But 
the  hours  went  on,  and  no  witness  came.  No  eyes  descried 
afar  off  tlie  two  human  bodies  among  the  tall  grass  by  the 
river-side.  Florence  was  busy  with  greater  affairs,  and  the 
preparation  of  a  deeper  tragedy. 

Not  long  after  those  two  bodies  were  lying  in  the  grass, 
Savonarola  was  being  tortured,  and  crying  out  in  his  agony, 
"  I  will  confess  !  " 

It  was  not  until  the  sun  was  westward  that  a  wagon 
drawn  by  a  mild  gray  ox  came  to  the  edge  of  the  grassy 
margin,  and  as  the  man  who  led  it  was  leaning  to  gather  up 
the  round  stones  that  lay  heaped  in  readiness  to  be  carried 
away,  he  detected  some  startling  object  in  the  grass.  The 
aged  man  had  fallen  forward,  and  his  dead  clutch  was  on  the 
garment  of  the  other.  It  was  not  possible  to  separate  them ; 
nay,  it  was  better  to  put  them  into  the  wagon  and  carry 
them  as  they  were  into  the  great  piazza,  that  notice  might  be 
given  to  the  Eight. 

As  the  wagon  entered  the  frequented  streets,  there  was  a 
growing  crowd  escorting  it  with  its  strange  burden.  No  one 
knew  the  bodies  or  a  long  while,  for  the  aged  face  had  fallen 
forward,  half  hiding  the  younger.  But  before  they  had  been 
moved  out  of  sight,  they  had  been  recognized. 


^~^  %~"  £"^  ^  «^    -    «^ 


■^'- 


4:R  l-.^l-ll 


WAITING   BY  THE   RIVER  345 

"  I  know  that  old  man,"  Piero  di  Cosimo  had  testified. 
"  I  painted  his  likeness  once.  He  is  the  prisoner  who 
clutched  Melema  on  the  steps  of  the  Duomo." 

"  He  is  perhaps  the  same  old  man  who  appeared  at 
supper  in  my  gardens,"  said  Bernardo  Ruccellai,  one  of  the 
Eight.  "  I  had  forgotten  him.  I  thought  he  had  died  in 
prison.     But  there  is  no  knowing  the  truth  now." 

Who  shall  put  his  finger  on  the  work  of  justice  and  say, 
"  It  is  there  "  ?  Justice  is  like  the  Kingdom  of  God,  —  it  is 
not  without  us  as  a  fact,  it  is  within  us  as  a  great  yearning. 


CHAPTER  XL VIII 

ROMOLA^S    WAKING 

ROMOLA  in  her  boat  passed  from  dreaming  into  long 
deep  sleep,  and  then  again  from  deep  sleep  into  busy 
dreaming,  till  at  last  she  felt  herself  stretching  out 
her  arms  in  the  court  of  the  Bargello,  where  the  flickering 
flames  of  the  tapers  seemed  to  get  stronger  and  stronger  till 
the  dark  scene  was  blotted  out  with  light.  Her  eyes  opened, 
and  she  saw  it  was  the  light  of  morning.  Her  boat  was 
lying  still  in  a  little  creek ;  on  her  right  hand  lay  the  speck- 
less  sapphire-blue  of  the  Mediterranean ;  on  her  left  one  of 
those  scenes  which  were  and  still  are  repeated  again  and 
again  like  a  sweet  rhythm,  on  the  shores  of  that  loveliest 
sea. 

In  a  deep  curve  of  the  mountains  lay  a  breadth  of  green 
land,  curtained  by  gentle  tree-shadowed  slopes  leaning 
towards  the  rocky  heights.  Up  these  slopes  might  be  seen 
here  and  there,  gleaming  between  the  tree- tops,  a  pathway 
leading  to  a  little  irregular  mass  of  building  that  seemed  to 
have  clambered  in  a  hasty  way  up  the  mountain-side,  and 
taken  a  difficult  stand  there  for  the  sake  of  showing  the  tall 
belfry  as  a  sight  of  beauty  to  the  scattered  and  clustered 
houses  of  the  village  below.  The  rays  of  the  newly  risen  sun 
fell  obliquely  on  the  westward  horn  of  this  crescent-shaped 
nook ;  all  else  lay  in  dewy  shadow.  No  sound  came  across 
the  stillness ;  the  very  waters  seemed  to  have  curved  them- 
selves there  for  rest. 

The  delicious  sun-ravs  fell  on  Romola,  and  thrilled  her 


ROMOLA'S    WAKING  347 

gently  like  a  caress.  She  lay  motionless,  hardly  watching 
the  scene;  rather,  feeling  simply  the  presence  of  peace  and 
beauty.  While  we  are  still  in  our  youth  there  can  always 
come,  in  our  early  waking,  moments  when  mere  passive 
existence  is  itself  a  Lethe,  when  the  exquisiteness  of  subtle 
indefinite  sensation  creates  a  bliss  which  is  without  memory 
and  without  desire.  As  the  soft  warmth  penetrated  Romola's 
young  limbs,  as  her  eyes  rested  on  this  sequestered  luxuriance, 
it  seemed  that  the  agitating  past  had  glided  away  like  that 
dark  scene  in  the  Bargello,  and  that  the  afternoon  dreams  of 
her  girlhood  had  really  come  back  to  her.  For  a  minute  or 
two  the  oblivion  was  untroubled ;  she  did  not  even  think  that 
she  could  rest  here  forever,  she  only  felt  that  she  rested. 
Then  she  became  distinctly  conscious  that  she  was  lying  in 
the  boat  which  had  been  bearing  her  over  the  waters  all 
through  the  night.  Instead  of  bringing  her  to  death,  it  had 
been  the  gently  lulling  cradle  of  a  new  life.  And  in  spite  of 
her  evening  despair  she  was  glad  that  the  morning  had  come 
to  her  again :  glad  to  think  that  she  was  resting  in  the 
familiar  sunlight  rather  than  in  the  unknown  regions  of 
death.  Could  she  not  rest  here  ?  No  sound  from  Florence 
would  reach  her.  Already  oblivion  was  troubled ;  from  be- 
hind the  golden  haze  were  piercing  domes  and  towers  and 
walls,  parted  by  a  river  and  enclosed  by  the  green  hills. 

She  rose  from  her  reclining  posture  and  sat  up  in  the 
boat,  willing,  if  she  could,  to  resist  the  rush  of  thoughts 
that  urged  themselves  along  with  the  conjecture  how  far  the 
boat  had  carried  her.  Why  need  she  mind  ?  This  was  a 
sheltered  nook  where  there  were  simple  villagers  who  would 
not  harm  her.  For  a  little  while,  at  least,  she  might  rest  and 
resolve  on  nothing.  Presently  she  would  go  and  get  some 
bread  and  milk,  and  then  she  would  nestle  in  the  green  quiet, 
and  feel  that  there  was  a  pause  in  her  life.     She  turned  to 


348  KOMOLA 

watch  the  crescent-shaped  valley,  that  she  might  get  back  the 
soothing  sense  of  peace  and  beauty  which  she  had  felt  in  her 
first  waking. 

She  had  not  been  in  this  attitude  of  contemplation  more 
than  a  few  minutes  when  across  the  stillness  there  came  a  pierc- 
ing cry ;  not  a  brief  cry,  but  continuous  and  more  and  more 
intense.  Romola  felt  sure  it  was  the  cry  of  a  little  child 
in  distress  that  no  one  came  to  help.  She  started  up  and  put 
one  foot  on  the  side  of  the  boat  ready  to  leap  on  to  the  beach ; 
but  she  paused  there  and  listened  :  the  mother  of  the  child 
must  be  near,  the  cry  must  soon  cease.  But  it  went  on,  and 
drew  Romola  so  irresistibly,  seeming  the  more  piteous  to  her 
for  the  sense  of  peace  which  had  preceded  it,  that  she  jumped 
on  to  the  beach  and  walked  many  paces  before  she  knew  what 
direction  she  would  take.  The  cry,  she  thought,  came  from 
some  rough  garden  growth  many  yards  on  her  right  hand,  where 
she  saw  a  half-ruined  hovel.  She  climbed  over  a  low  broken 
stone  fence  and  made  her  way  across  patches  of  weedy  green 
crops  and  ripe  but  neglected  corn.  The  cry  grew  plainer, 
and  convinced  that  she  was  right  she  hastened  towards  the 
hovel ;  but  even  in  that  hurried  walk  she  felt  an  oppressive 
change  in  the  air  as  she  left  the  sea  behind.  Was  there  some 
taint  lurking  among  the  green  luxuriance  that  had  seemed 
such  an  inviting  shelter  from  the  heat  of  the  coming  day  ? 
She  could  see  the  opening  into  the  hovel  now,  and  the  cry 
was  darting  through  her  like  a  pain.  The  next  moment  her 
foot  was  within  the  doorway,  but  the  sight  she  beheld  in  the 
sombre  light  arrested  her  with  a  shock  of  awe  and  horror. 
On  the  straw,  with  which  the  floor  was  scattered,  lay  three 
dead  bodies,  one  of  a  tall  man,  one  of  a  girl  about  eight  years 
old,  and  one  of  a  young  woman  whose  long  black  hair  was 
being  clutched  and  pulled  by  a  living  child,  —  the  child  that 
was  sending  forth  the  piercing  cry.     Romola's  experience  in 


ROMOLA^S   WAKING  349 

the  haunts  of  death  and  disease  made  thought  and  action 
prompt :  she  lifted  the  little  living  child,  and  in  trying  to 
soothe  it  on  her  bosom,  still  bent  to  look  at  the  bodies  and 
see  if  they  were  really  dead.  The  strongly  marked  type  of 
race  in  their  features,  and  their  peculiar  garb  made  her  con- 
jecture that  they  were  Spanish  or  Portuguese  Jews,  who  had 
perhaps  been  put  ashore  and  abandoned  there  by  rapacious 
sailors,  to  whom  their  property  remained  as  a  prey.  Such 
things  were  happening  continually  to  Jews  compelled  to 
abandon  their  homes  by  the  Inquisition  :  the  cruelty  of  greed 
thrust  them  from  the  sea,  and  the  cruelty  of  superstition  thrust 
them  back  to  it. 

"  But,  surely,^'  thought  Roraola,  "  I  shall  find  some 
woman  in  the  village  whose  mother's  heart  will  not  let  her 
refuse  to  tend  this  helpless  child,  —  if  the  real  mother  is 
indeed  dead/' 

This  doubt  remained,  because  while  the  man  and  girl 
looked  emaciated  and  also  showed  signs  of  having  been  long 
dead,  the  woman  seemed  to  have  been  hardier,  and  had  not 
quite  lost  the  robustness  of  her  form.  Romola,  kneeling, 
was  about  to  lay  her  hand  on  the  heart ;  but  as  she  lifted 
the  piece  of  yellow  woollen  drapery  that  lay  across  the  bosom, 
she  saw  the  purple  spots  which  marked  the  familiar  pestilence. 
Then  it  struck  her  that  if  the  villagers  knew  of  this,  she  might 
have  more  difficulty  than  she  had  expected  in  getting  help 
from  them ;  they  would  perhaps  shrink  from  her  with  that 
child  in  her  arms.  But  she  had  money  to  offer  them,  and 
they  would  not  refuse  to  give  her  some  goat's  milk  in  exchange 
for  it. 

She  set  out  at  once  towards  the  village,  her  mind  filled 
now  with  the  effort  to  soothe  the  little  dark  creature,  and  with 
wondering  liow  she  should  win  some  woman  to  be  good  to  it. 
She  could  not  help  hoping  a  little  in  a  certain  awe  she  had 


350  ROMOLA 

observed  lierself  to  inspire,  when  she  appeared,  unknown  and 
unexpected,  in  her  religious  dress.  As  she  passed  across  a 
breadth  of  cultivated  ground,  she  noticed,  with  wonder,  that 
little  patches  of  corn  mingled  with  the  other  crops  had  been 
left  to  over-ripeness  untouched  by  the  sickle,  and  that  golden 
apples  and  dark  figs  lay  rotting  on  the  weedy  earth.  There 
were  grassy  spaces  within  sight,  but  no  cow,  or  sheep,  or  goat. 

The  stillness  began  to  have  something  fearful  in  it  to 
Romola ;  she  hurried  along  towards  the  thickest  cluster  of 
houses,  where  there  would  be  the  most  life  to  appeal  to  on 
behalf  of  the  helpless  life  she  carried  in  her  arms.  But  slie 
had  picked  up  two  figs,  and  bit  little  pieces  from  the  sweet 
pulp  to  still  the  child  with. 

She  entered  between  two  lines  of  dwellings.  It  was  time 
that  villagers  should  have  been  stirring  long  ago,  but  not  a 
soul  was  in  sight.  The  air  was  becoming  more  and  more 
oppressive,  laden,  it  seemed,  with  some  horrible  impurity. 
There  was  a  door  open ;  she  looked  in,  and  saw  grim  empti- 
ness. Another  open  door ;  and  through  that  she  saw  a  man 
lying  dead  with  all  his  garments  on,  his  head  lying  athwart  a 
spade  handle,  and  an  earthenware  cruse  in  his  hand,  as  if  he 
had  fallen  suddenly. 

Eomola  felt  horror  taking  possession  of  her.  Was  she 
in  a  village  of  the  unburied  dead  ?  She  wanted  to  listen  if 
there  were  any  faint  sound,  but  the  child  cried  out  afresh 
when  she  ceased  to  feed  it,  and  the  cry  filled  her  ears.  At 
last  she  saw  a  figure  crawling  slowly  out  of  a  house,  and  soon 
sinking  back  in  a  sitting  posture  against  the  wall.  She  hast- 
ened towards  the  figure ;  it  was  a  young  woman  in  fevered 
anguish,  and  she,  too,  held  a  pitcher  in  her  hand.  As 
Romola  approached  her,  she  did  not  start ;  the  one  need 
was  too  absorbing  for  any  other  idea  to  impress  itself  on 
her. 


i 


^-u. 


I 


■^:! 


ROMOLA'S   WAKING  351 

"  Water !  get  me  water !  "  she  said,  with  a  moaning 
utterance. 

Romola  stooped  to  take  the  pitcher,  and  said  gently  in 
her  ear,  "  You  shall  have  water ;  can  you  point  towards  the 
well?^' 

The  hand  was  lifted  towards  the  more  distant  end  of  the 
little  street,  and  Eomola  set  off  at  once  with  as  much  speed 
as  she  could  use  under  the  difficulty  of  carrying  the  pitcher 
as  well  as  feeding  the  child.  But  the  little  one  was  getting 
more  content  as  the  morsels  of  sweet  pulp  were  repeated,  and 
ceased  to  distress  her  with  its  cry,  so  that  she  could  give  a 
less  distracted  attention  to  the  objects  around  her. 

The  well  lay  twenty  yards  or  more  beyond  the  end  of 
the  street ;  and  as  Romola  was  approaching  it,  her  eyes  were 
directed  to  the  opposite  green  slope  immediately  below  the 
church.  High  up,  on  a  patch  of  grass  between  the  trees,  she 
had  descried  a  cow  and  a  couple  of  goats,  and  she  tried  to 
trace  a  line  of  path  that  would  lead  her  close  to  that  cheering 
sight,  when  once  she  had  done  her  errand  to  the  well.  Occu- 
pied in  this  way,  she  was  not  aware  that  she  was  very  near  the 
well,  and  that  some  one  approaching  it  on  the  other  side  had 
fixed  a  pair  of  astonislied  eyes  upon  her. 

Romola  certainly  presented  a  sight  winch  at  that  mo- 
ment and  in  that  place  could  hardly  have  been  seen  without 
some  pausing  and  palj)itation.  With  her  gaze  fixed  intently 
on  the  distant  slope,  the  long  lines  of  her  thick  gray  garment 
giving  a  gliding  character  to  lier  rapid  walk,  her  hair  rolling 
backward  and  illuminated  on  the  left  side  by  the  sun-rays, 
the  little  olive  baby  on  her  right  arm  now  looking  out  with 
jet-black  eyes,  she  might  well  startle  that  youth  of  fifteen, 
accustomed  to  swing  the  censer  in  the  presence  of  a  Madonna 
less  fair  and  marvellous  tlinn  this. 

"She  carries  a  pitcher  in   lier  hand, — to  fetch  water 


352  ROMOLA 

for  the  sict.  It  is  the  Holy  Motlier,  come  to  take  care  of 
the  people  who  have  the  pestilence." 

It  was  a  sight  of  awe :  she  would,  j)erhaps,  be  angry 
with  those  who  fetched  water  for  themselves  only.  The 
youth  flung  [down  his  vessel  in  terror ;  and  llomola,  aware 
now  of  some  one  near  her,  saw  the  black  and  white  figure  fly 
as  if  for  dear  life  towards  the  slope  she  had  just  been  con- 
templating. But  remembering  the  parched  sufferer,  she 
half  filled  her  pitcher  quickly  and  hastened  back. 

Entering  the  house  to  look  for  a  small  cup,  she  saw 
salt  meat  and  meal :  there  Mere  no  signs  of  want  in  the 
dwelling.  With  nimble  movement  she  seated  baby  on  the 
ground,  and  lifted  a  cup  of  water  to  the  sufferer,  who  drank 
eagerly  and  then  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned  her  head  back- 
ward, seeming  to  give  herself  up  to  the  sense  of  relief.  Pres- 
ently she  opened  her  eyes,  and,  looking  at  Romola,  said 
languidly,  — 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  came  over  the  sea,"  said  Romola.  "  I  only  came 
this  morning.     Are  all  the  people  dead  in  these  houses  ?  " 

"  I  think  they  are  all  ill  now,  —  all  that  are  not  dead. 
My  father  and  my  sister  lie  dead  upstairs,  and  there  is  no 
one  to  bury  them  ;  and  soon  I  shall  die." 

"  Not  so,  I  hope,"  said  Romola.  "  I  am  come  to  take 
care  of  you.  I  am  used  to  the  pestilence ;  I  am  not  afraid. 
But  there  must  be  some  left  who  are  not  ill.  I  saw  a  youth 
running  towards  the  mountain  when  I  went  to  the  well." 

"I  cannot  tell.  When  tlie  pestilence  came,  a  great 
many  people  went  away,  and  drove  ofl^  the  cows  and  goats. 
Give  me  more  water !  " 

Romola,  suspecting  that  if  she  followed  the  direction  of 
the  youth's  flight,  she  should  find  some  men  and  women  wlio 
were  still  healthy  and  able,  determined  to  seek  them  out  at 


ROMOLA'S   WAKING  353 

once,  that  she  might  at  least  win  them  to  take  care  of  the 
child,  and  leave  her  free  to  come  back  and  see  how  many 
living  needed  help,  and  how  many  dead  needed  burial.  She 
trusted  to  her  powers  of  persuasion  to  conquer  the  aid  of  the 
timorous,  when  once  she  knew  what  was  to  be  done. 

Promising  the  sick  woman  to  come  back  to  her,  she 
lifted  the  dark  bantling  again,  and  set  off  towards  the  slope. 
She  felt  no  burden  of  choice  on  her  now,  no  longing  for 
death.  She  was  thinking  how  she  would  go  to  the  other 
sufferers,  as  she  had  gone  to  that  fevered  woman. 

But,  with  the  child  on  her  arm,  it  was  not  so  easy  to 
her  as  usual  to  walk  up  a  slope,  and  it  seemed  a  long  while 
before  the  winding  path  took  her  near  the  cow  and  the  goats. 
She  was  beginning  herself  to  feel  faint  from  heat,  hunger,  and 
thirst,  and  as  she  reached  a  double  turning,  she  paused  to 
consider  whether  she  would  not  wait  near  the  cow,  which 
some  one  was  likely  to  come  and  milk  soon,  rather  than  toil 
up  to  the  church  before  she  had  taken  any  rest.  Raising  her 
eyes  to  measure  the  steep  distance,  she  saw  peeping  between 
the  boughs,  not  more  than  five  yards  off,  a  broad  round  face, 
watching  her  attentively,  and  lower  down  the  black  skirt  of 
a  priest's  garment,  and  a  hand  grasping  a  bucket.  Slie  stood 
mutely  observing,  and  the  face,  too,  remained  motionless. 
Romola  had  often  witnessed  the  overpowering  force  of  dread 
in  cases  of  pestilence,  and  she  was  cautious. 

Raising  her  voice  in  a  tone  of  gentle  pleading,  she  said, 
"  I  came  over  the  sea.  I  am  hungry,  and  so  is  the  child. 
Will  you  not  give  us  some  milk  ?  " 

Romola  had  divined  part  of  the  trutli,  but  she  had  not 
divined  that  preoccupation  of  the  priest's  mind  which  charged 
her  words  with  a  strange  significance.  Only  a  little  while 
ago,  the  young  acolyte  had  brought  word  to  the  Padre  that 
he  had  seen  the  Holy  Mother  with  the  Babe,  fetching  water 

VOL.  II.  —  23 


354  ROMOLA 

for  the  sick :  she  was  as  tall  as  the  cypresses,  and  had  a  light 
about  her  head,  and  she  looked  up  at  the  church.  The 
pievano  had  not  listened  with  entire  belief :  he  had  been 
more  than  fifty  years  in  the  world  without  having  any  vision 
of  the  Madonna,  and  he  thought  the  boy  might  have  misin- 
terpreted the  unexpected  appearance  of  a  villager.  But  he 
had  been  made  uneasy,  and  before  venturing  to  come  down 
and  milk  his  cow,  he  had  repeated  many  Aves.  The  pievano's 
conscience  tormented  him  a  little :  he  trembled  at  the  pes- 
tilence, but  he  also  trembled  at  the  thought  of  the  mild-faced 
Mother,  conscious  that  that  Invisible  Mercy  might  demand 
something  more  of  him  than  prayers  and  "  Hails.'*  In  this 
state  of  mind  —  unable  to  banish  the  image  the  boy  had 
raised  of  the  Mother  with  the  glory  about  her  tending  the 
sick  —  the  pievano  had  come  down  to  milk  his  cow,  and  had 
suddenly  caught  sight  of  Romola  pausing  at  the  parted  way. 
Her  pleading  words,  with  their  strange  refinement  of  tone  and 
accent,  instead  of  being  explanatory,  had  a  preternatural 
sound  for  him.  Yet  he  did  not  quite  believe  he  saw  the 
Holy  Mother:  he  was  in  a  state  of  alarmed  hesitation.  If 
anything  miraculous  were  happening,  he  felt  there  was  no 
strong  presumption  that  the  miracle  would  be  in  his  favour. 
He  dared  not  run  away  ;  he  dared  not  advance. 

"  Come  down,"  said  Romola,  after  a  pause.  "  Do  not 
fear.  Fear  rather  to  deny  food  to  the  hungry  when  they  ask 
you." 

A  moment  after,  the  boughs  were  parted,  and  the  com- 
plete figure  of  a  thick-set  priest  with  a  broad,  harmless  face, 
his  black  frock  much  worn  and  soiled,  stood,  bucket  in  hand, 
looking  at  her  timidly,  and  still  keeping  aloof  as  he  took  the 
path  towards  the  cow  in  silence. 

Romola  followed  him  and  watched  him  without  speaking 
again,   as   he  seated  himself  against  the  tethered  cow,  and, 


ROMOLA^S   WAKING  355 

when  he  had  nervously  drawn  some  milk,  gave  it  to  her  in  a 
brass  cup  he  carried  with  him  in  the  bucket.  As  Romola 
put  the  cup  to  the  lips  of  the  eager  child,  and  afterwards 
drank  some  milk  herself,  the  Padre  observed  her  from  his 
wooden  stool  with  a  timidity  that  changed  its  character  a 
little.  He  recognized  the  Hebrew  baby,  he  was  certain  that 
he  had  a  substantial  woman  before  him ;  but  there  was  still 
something  strange  and  unaccountable  in  KomoWs  presence  in 
this  spot,  and  the  Padre  had  a  presentiment  that  things  were 
going  to  change  with  him.  Moreover,  that  Hebrew  baby 
was  terribly  associated  with  the  dread  of  pestilence. 

Nevertheless,  when  Romola  smiled  at  the  little  one 
sucking  its  own  milky  lips,  and  stretched  out  the  brass  cup 
again,  saying,  "  Give  us  more,  good  father,"  he  obeyed  less 
nervously  than  before. 

Eomola  on  her  side  was  not  unobservant ;  and  when  the 
second  supply  of  milk  had  been  drunk,  she  looked  down  at 
the  round-headed  man,  and  said  with  mild  decision,  — 

"  And  now  tell  me,  father,  how  this  pestilence  came,  and 
why  you  let  your  people  die  without  the  sacraments,  and  lie 
unburied.  For  I  am  come  over  the  sea  to  help  those  who 
are  left  alive,  —  and  you,  too,  will  help  them  now." 

He  told  her  the  story  of  the  pestilence ;  and  while  he 
was  telling  it,  the  youth,  who  had  fled  before,  had  come 
peeping  and  advancing  gradually,  till  at  last  he  stood  and 
watched  the  scene  from  behind  a  neighbouring  bush. 

Three  families  of  Jews,  twenty  souls  in  all,  had  been 
put  ashore  many  weeks  ago,  some  of  them  already  ill  of  the 
pestilence.  The  villagers,  said  the  priest,  had  of  course  re- 
fused to  give  shelter  to  the  miscreants,  otherwise  than  in  a 
distant  hovel,  and  under  heaps  of  straw.  But  when  the 
strangers  had  died  of  the  plague,  and  some  of  the  people  had 
thrown  the  bodies  into  the  sea,  the  sea  had  brought  them 


356  ROMOLA 

back  again  in  a  great  storm,  and  everybody  was  smitten  with 
terror.  A  grave  was  dug,  and  the  bodies  were  buried ;  but 
then  the  pestilence  attacked  the  Christians,  and  the  greater 
number  of  the  villagers  went  away  over  the  mountain,  driv- 
ing away  their  few  cattle,  and  carrying  provisions.  The  priest 
had  not  fled ;  he  had  stayed  and  prayed  for  the  people,  and 
he  had  prevailed  on  the  youth  Jacopo  to  stay  with  him ;  but 
he  confessed  that  a  mortal  terror  of  the  plague  had  taken  hold 
of  him,  and  he  had  not  dared  to  go  down  into  the  valley. 

"  You  will  fear  no  longer,  father,"  said  Romola,  in  a 
tone  of  encouraging  authority ;  "  you  will  come  down  with 
me,  and  we  will  see  who  is  living,  and  we  will  look  for  the 
dead  to  bury  them.  I  have  walked  about  for  months  where 
the  pestilence  was,  and  see,  I  am  strong.  Jacopo  will  come 
with  us,"  she  added,  motioning  to  the  peeping  lad,  who 
came  slowly  from  behind  his  defensive  bush,  as  if  invisible 
threads  were  dragging  him. 

'^Come,  Jacopo,"  said  Eomola  again,  smiling  at  him, 
"  you  will  carry  the  child  for  me.  See  !  your  arms  are 
strong,  and  I  am  tired. '^ 

That  was  a  dreadful  proposal  to  Jacopo,  and  to  the 
priest  also;  but  they  were  both  under  a  peculiar  influence 
forcing  them  to  obey.  The  suspicion  that  Romola  was  a 
supernatural  form  was  dissipated,  but  their  minds  were  filled 
instead  with  the  more  effective  sense  that  she  was  a  human 
being  whom  God  had  sent  over  the  sea  to  command  them. 

"  Now  we  will  carry  down  the  milk,"  said  Romola, 
"  and  see  if  any  one  wants  it." 

So  they  went  all  together  down  the  slope,  and  that 
morning  the  suff'erers  saw  help  come  to  them  in  their  despair. 
There  were  hardly  more  than  a  score  alive  in  the  whole  valley  ; 
but  all  of  these   were  comforted,  most  were  saved,  and  the       |, 

dead  were  buried.  '^ 

i 


?  The  confession  of  Savonarola 


+  nsvs-h 

SAvOUARoiE  ■  DE.  Ff  ftlUKir 
Jl^^  :(Jr^u^  ^J^  r^j^^  ^  :^,^^,  ^0),,^^-^^  ,.;^^ 


■  <VA.i 


From  a  cnntemporanj  MS.  in  the  Arch irts  of  Florence 


I 


ROMOLA'S   WAKING  357 

In  this  way  days,  weeks,  and  months  passed  with 
Romola  till  the  men  were  digging  and  sowing  again,  till  the 
women  smiled  at  her  as  they  carried  their  great  vases  on  their 
heads  to  the  well,  and  the  Hebrew  baby  was  a  tottering  tum- 
bling Christian,  Benedetto  by  name,  having  been  baptized  in 
the  church  on  the  mountain-side.  But  by  that  time  she  her- 
self was  suffering  from  the  fatigue  and  languor  that  must 
come  after  a  continuous  strain  on  mind  and  body.  She  had 
taken  for  her  dwelling  one  of  the  houses  abandoned  by  their 
owners,  standing  a  little  aloof  from  the  village  street;  and 
here  on  a  thick  heap  of  clean  straw,  —  a  delicious  bed  for  those 
who  do  not  dream  of  down,  —  she  felt  glad  to  lie  still  through 
most  of  the  daylight  hours,  taken  care  of  along  with  the  little 
Benedetto  by  a  woman  whom  the  pestilence  had  widowed. 

Every  day  the  Padre  and  Jacopo  and  the  small  flock  of 
surviving  villagers  paid  their  visit  to  this  cottage  to  see  the 
blessed  Lady,  and  to  bring  her  of  their  best  as  an  offering,  — 
honey,  fresh  cakes,  eggs,  and  polenta.  It  was  a  sight  they 
could  none  of  them  forget,  a  sight  they  all  told  of  in  their 
old  age,  —  how  the  sweet  and  sainted  lady  with  her  fair  face, 
her  golden  hair,  and  her  brown  eyes  that  had  a  blessing  in 
them,  lay  weary  with  her  labours  after  she  had  been  sent 
over  the  sea  to  help  them  in  their  extremity,  and  how  the 
queer  little  black  Benedetto  used  to  crawl  about  the  straw  by 
her  side  and  want  everything  that  was  brought  to  her,  and 
she  always  gave  him  a  bit  of  what  she  took,  and  told  them  if 
they  loved  her  they  must  be  good  to  Benedetto. 

Many  legends  were  afterwards  told  in  that  valley  about 
the  blessed  Lady  who  came  over  the  sea,  but  they  were 
legends  by  which  all  who  heard  might  know  that  in  times 
gone  by  a  woman  iiad  done  beautiful  loving  deeds  there, 
rescumg  those  who  were  ready  to  perish. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

HOMEWARD 

IN  those  silent  wintry  hours  when  Romola  lay  resting 
from  her  weariness,  her  mind,  travelling  back  over  the 
past,  and  gazing  across  the  undefined  distance  of  the 
future,  saw  all  objects  from  a  new  position.  Her  experience 
since  the  moment  of  her  waking  in  the  boat  had  come  to  her 
with  as  strong  an  effect  as  that  of  the  fresh  seal  on  the  dis- 
solving wax.  She  had  felt  herself  without  bonds,  without 
motive ;  sinking  in  mere  egoistic  complaining  that  life  could 
bring  her  no  content ;  feeling  a  right  to  say,  "  I  am  tired  of 
life,  I  want  to  die."  That  thought  had  sobbed  within  her  as 
she  fell  asleep,  but  from  the  moment  after  her  waking  when 
the  cry  had  drawn  her,  she  had  not  even  reflected,  as  she  used 
to  do  in  Florence,  that  she  was  glad  to  live  because  she  could 
lighten  sorrow,  —  she  had  simply  lived,  with  so  energetic  an 
impulse  to  share  the  life  around  her,  to  answer  the  call  of 
need  and  do  the  work  which  cried  aloud  to  be  done,  that  the 
reasons  for  living,  enduring,  labouring,  never  took  the  form 
of  argument. 

The  experience  was  like  a  new  baptism  to  Romola,  In 
Florence  the  simpler  relations  of  tlie  human  being  to  his  fellow- 
meu  had  been  complicated  for  her  with  all  the  special  ties  of 
marriage,  the  State,  and  religious  discipleship ;  and  when 
these  had  disappointed  her  trust,  the  shock  seemed  to  have 
shaken  her  aloof  from  life  and  stunned  her  sympathy.  But 
now  she  said,  "  It  was  mere  baseness  in  me  to  desire  death. 
If  everything  else  is  doubtful,  tliis  suff'ering  that  I  can  help 


HOMEWARD  359 

is  certain ;  if  the  glory  of  the  cross  is  an  illusion,  the  sorrow 
is  only  the  truer.  While  the  strength  is  in  my  arm  I  will 
stretch  it  out  to  the  fainting ;  while  the  light  visits  my  eyes 
they  shall  seek  the  forsaken/' 

And  then  the  past  arose  with  a  fresh  appeal  to  her. 
Her  work  in  this  green  valley  was  done,  and  the  emotions 
that  were  disengaged  from  the  people  immediately  around 
her  rushed  back  into  the  old  deep  channels  of  use  and  affec- 
tion. That  rare  possibility  of  self-contemplation  which  comes 
in  any  complete  severance  from  our  wonted  life  made  her 
judge  herself  as  she  had  never  done  before  :  the  compunction 
which  is  inseparable  from  a  sympathetic  nature  keenly  alive 
to  the  possible  experience  of  others,  began  to  stir  in  her  with 
growing  force.  She  questioned  the  justness  of  her  own  con- 
clusions, of  her  own  deeds  :  she  had  been  rash,  arrogant, 
always  dissatisfied  that  others  were  not  good  enough,  while 
she  herself  had  not  been  true  to  what  her  soul  had  once 
recognized  as  the  best.  She  began  to  condemn  her  flight : 
after  all,  it  had  been  cowardly  self-care ;  the  grounds  on 
which  Savonarola  had  once  taken  her  back  were  truer,  deeper 
than  the  grounds  she  had  had  for  her  second  flight.  How 
could  she  feci  the  needs  of  others  and  not  feel,  above  all,  the 
needs  of  the  nearest  ? 

But  then  came  reaction  against  such  self-reproach.  The 
memory  of  her  life  with  Tito,  of  the  conditions  which  made 
their  real  union  impossible,  wliile  tlieir  external  union  imposed 
a  set  of  false  duties  on  her  which  were  essentially  the  conceal- 
ment and  sanctioning  of  what  her  mind  revolted  from,  told 
her  that  flight  had  been  her  oidy  resource.  All  minds,  ex- 
cept such  as  are  delivered  from  doubt  by  dulness  of  sensi- 
bility, must  be  subject  to  tliis  recurring  conflict  where  the 
many-twisted  conditions  of  life  have  forbidden  the  fulfil- 
ment of  a  bond.     For  in  strictness  there  is  no  replacing  of 


360  ROMOLA 

relations  :  the  presence  of  the  new  does  not  nullify  the  failure 
and  breach  of  the  old.  Life  has  lost  its  perfection  :  it  has  been 
maimed ;  and  until  the  wounds  are  quite  scarred,  conscience 
continually  casts  backward,  doubting  glances. 

Romola  shrank  with  dread  from  the  renewal  of  her 
proximity  to  Tito,  and  yet  she  was  uneasy  that  she  had  put 
herself  out  of  reach  of  knowing  what  was  his  fate,  —  uneasy 
that  the  moment  might  yet  come  when  he  would  be  in  misery 
and  need  her.  There  was  still  a  thread  of  pain  within  her, 
testifying  to  those  words  of  Era  Girolamo,  that  she  could  not 
cease  to  be  a  wife.  Could  anything  utterly  cease  for  her  that 
had  once  mingled  itself  with  the  current  of  her  heart's 
blood? 

Florence,  and  all  her  life  there,  had  come  back  to  her 
like  hunger;  her  feelings  could  not  go  wandering  after  the 
possible  and  the  vague :  their  living  fibre  was  fed  with  the 
memory  of  familiar  things.  And  the  thought  that  she  had 
divided  herself  from  them  forever  became  more  and  more 
importunate  in  these  hours  that  were  unfilled  with  action. 
What  if  Fra  Girolamo  had  been  wrong  ?  What  if  the  life  of 
Florence  was  a  web  of  inconsistencies?  Was  she,  then, 
something  higlier,  tliat  she  should  shake  the  dust  from  off 
her  feet,  and  say,  "  This  world  is  not  good  enough  for  me  "  ? 
If  she  had  been  really  higher,  she  would  not  so  easily  have 
lost  all  her  trust. 

Her  indignant  grief  for  her  godfather  had  no  longer 
complete  possession  of  her,  and  her  sense  of  debt  to  Savo- 
narola was  recovering  predominance.  Nothing  that  had  come, 
or  was  to  come,  could  do  away  with  the  fact  that  there  had 
been  a  great  inspiration  in  him  which  had  waked  a  new  life 
in  her.  Who,  in  all  lier  experience,  could  demand  the  same 
gratitude  from  her  as  he?  His  errors,  —  might  they  not 
brintc  calamities  ? 


HOMEWARD  361 

She  could  not  rest.  She  hardly  knew  whether  it  was 
her  strength  returning  with  the  budding  leaves  that  made  her 
active  again,  or  whether  it  was  her  eager  longing  to  get 
nearer  Florence.  She  did  not  imagine  herself  daring  to  enter 
Florence,  but  the  desire  to  be  near  enough  to  learn  what  was 
happening  there  urged  itself  with  a  strength  that  excluded  all 
other  purposes. 

And  one  March  morning  the  people  in  the  valley  were 
gathered  together  to  see  the  blessed  Lady  depart.  Jacopo 
had  fetched  a  mule  for  her,  and  was  going  with  her  over  the 
mountains.  The  Padre,  too,  was  going  with  her  to  the 
nearest  town,  that  he  might  help  her  in  learning  the  safest 
way  by  which  she  might  get  to  Pistoja.  Her  store  of  trin- 
kets and  money,  untouched  in  this  valley,  was  abundant  for 
her  needs. 

If  Romola  had  been  less  drawn  by  the  longing  that  was 
taking  her  away,  it  would  have  been  a  hard  moment  for  her 
when  she  walked  along  the  village  street  for  the  last  time, 
while  the  Padre  and  Jacopo,  with  the  mule,  were  awaiting 
her  near  the  well.  Her  steps  were  hindered  by  the  wailing 
people,  who  knelt  and  kissed  her  hands,  then  clung  to  her 
skirts  and  kissed  the  gray  folds,  crying,  "  Ah,  why  M'ill  you 
go,  when  the  good  season  is  beginning  and  the  crops  will  be 
plentiful  ?     Why  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  Do  not  be  sorry,"  said  Romola ;  "  you  are  well  now, 
and  I  shall  remember  you.  I  must  go  and  see  if  my  own 
people  want  me.^' 

"  Ah,  yes,  if  they  have  the  pestilence  !  " 

''  Look  at  us  again,  Madonna  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  will  be  good  to  the  little  Benedetto  ! " 

At  last  Romola  mounted  her  mule ;  but  a  vigorous 
screaming  from  Benedetto  as  h(^  saw  her  turn  from  him  in 
this  new  position,  was  an  excuse  for  all  the  people  to  follow 


362 


ROMOLA 


her  and  insist  that  he  must  ride  on  the  mule's  neck  to  the 
foot  of  the  slope. 

The  parting  must  come  at  last ;  but  as  Romola  turned 
continually  before  she  passed  out  of  sight,  she  saw  the  little 
flock  lingering  to  catch  the  last  waving  of  her  hand. 


The  prison  of  Savonarola  in  the 
tower  of  Palazzo  Vecchio 


I 


I 

I 


CHAPTER  L 

MEETING   AGAIN 

ON  the  14th  of  April  Romola  was  once  more  within 
the  walls  of  Florence.  Unable  to  rest  at  Pistoja^ 
where  contradictory  reports  reached  her  about  the 
Trial  by  Fire,  she  had  gone  on  to  Prato ;  and  was  beginning 
to  think  that  she  should  be  drawn  on  to  Florence  in  spite  of 
dread,  when  she  encountered  that  monk  of  San  Spirito  who 
had  been  her  godfather's  confessor.  From  him  she  learned  the 
full  story  of  Savonarola's  arrest  and  of  her  husband's  death. 
This  Augustinian  monk  had  been  in  the  stream  of  people 
who  had  followed  the  wagon  with  its  awful  burthen  into  the 
piazza,  and  he  could  tell  her  what  was  generally  known  in 
Florence,  —  that  Tito  had  escaped  from  an  assaulting  mob 
by  leaping  into  the  Arno,  but  had  been  murdered  on  the 
bank  by  an  old  man  who  had  long  had  an  enmity  against 
him.  But  Romola  understood  the  catastrophe  as  no  one  else 
did.  Of  Savonarola  the  monk  told  her,  in  that  tone  of  un- 
favourable prejudice  which  was  usual  in  the  Black  Brethren 
(Frati  Neri)  towards  the  brother  who  showed  white  under 
his  black,  that  he  had  confessed  himself  a  deceiver  of  the  people. 
Romola  paused  no  longer.  That  evening  she  was  in 
Florence,  sitting  in  agitated  silence  under  the  exclamations  of 
joy  and  wailing,  mingled  with  exuberant  narrative,  which 
were  poured  into  her  ears  by  Monna  Brigida,  who  had  back- 
slided  into  false  hair  in  Romola's  absence,  but  now  drew  it 
off  again  and  declared  she  would  not  mind  being  gray,  if  her 
dear  child  would  stay  with  her. 


364  ROMOLA 

Romola  was  too  deeply  moved  by  the  main  events  which 
she  had  known  before  coming  to  Florence,  to  be  wrought 
upon  by  the  doubtful  gossiping  details  added  in  Brigida's 
narrative.  The  tragedy  of  her  husband^s  death,  of  Era 
Girolamo's  confession  of  duplicity  under  the  coercion  of  tor- 
ture, left  her  hardly  any  power  of  apprehending  minor  cir- 
cumstances. All  the  mental  activity  she  could  exert  under 
that  load  of  awe-stricken  grief  was  absorbed  by  two  purposes 
which  must  supersede  every  other,  —  to  try  and  see  Savon- 
arola, and  to  learn  what  had  become  of  Tessa  and  the 
children. 

"  Tell  me,  Cousin,'^  she  said  abruptly,  when  Monna 
Brigida's  tongue  had  run  quite  away  from  troubles  into  pro- 
jects of  Romola's  living  with  her,  "  has  anything  been  seen 
or  said  since  Tito^s  death  of  a  young  woman  with  two  little 
children  ?  " 

Brigida  started,  rounded  her  eyes,  and  lifted  up  her 
hands. 

"  Cristo  !  no.  What !  was  he  so  bad  as  that,  my  poor 
child  ?  Ah,  then,  that  was  why  you  went  away,  and  left  me 
word  only  that  you  went  of  your  own  free  will.  Well,  well ; 
if  I  M  known  that,  I  should  n't  have  thought  you  so  strange 
and  flighty.  For  I  did  say  to  myself,  though  1  did  n't  tell 
anybody  else,  '  What  was  she  to  go  away  from  her  husband 
for,  leaving  him  to  mischief,  only  because  they  cut  poor 
Bernardo's  head  off  ?  She 's  got  her  father's  temper,'  I  said ; 
'  that 's  what  it  is.'  Well,  well ;  never  scold  me,  child  : 
Bardo  was  fierce,  you  can't  deny  it.  But  if  you  had  only 
told  me  the  truth,  that  there  was  a  young  hussy  and  children, 
I  should  have  understood  it  all.  Anything  seen  or  said  of 
her  ?  No ;  and  the  less  the  better.  They  say  enough  of  ill 
about  him  without  that.  But  since  that  was  the  reason  you 
went  — " 


MEETING   AGAIN  365 

"  No,  dear  cousin/'  said  Romola,  interrupting  her 
earnestly,  "  pray  do  not  talk  so.  I  wish  above  all  things  to 
find  that  young  woman  and  her  children,  and  to  take  care  of 
them.  They  are  quite  helpless.  Say  nothing  against  it; 
that  is  the  thing  I  shall  do  first  of  all.'' 

"  Well,"  said  Monna  Brigida,  shrugging  her  shoulders 
and  lowering  her  voice  with  an  air  of  puzzled  discomfiture, 
"  if  that 's  being  a  Piagnone,  I  've  been  taking  peas  for  pater- 
nosters. Why,  Era  Girolamo  said  as  good  as  that  widows 
ought  not  to  marry  again.  Step  in  at  the  door  and  it 's  a 
sin  and  a  shame,  it  seems ;  but  come  down  the  chimney  and 
you  're  welcome.     Two  children  —  Santiddio  !  " 

"  Cousin,  the  poor  thing  has  done  no  conscious  wrong  : 
she  is  ignorant  of  everything.  I  will  tell  you  —  but  not 
now." 

Early  the  next  morning  Eomola's  steps  were  directed  to 
the  house  beyond  San  Ambrogio  where  she  had  once  found 
Tessa  ;  but  it  was  as  she  had  feared  :  Tessa  was  gone.  Rom- 
ola  conjectured  that  Tito  had  sent  her  away  beforehand  to 
some  spot  where  he  had  intended  to  join  her,  for  she  did  not 
believe  that  he  would  willingly  part  with  those  children.  It 
was  a  painful  conjecture,  because,  if  Tessa  were  out  of  Flor- 
ence, there  was  hardly  a  chance  of  finding  her,  and  Romola 
pictured  the  childish  creature  waiting  and  waiting  at  some 
wayside  spot  in  wondering,  helpless  misery.  Those  who 
lived  near  could  tell  her  nothing  except  that  old  deaf  Lisa 
had  gone  away  a  week  ago  with  her  goods,  but  no  one  knew 
where  Tessa  had  gone.  Romola  saw  no  further  active  search 
open  to  her;  for  she  had  no  knowledge  that  could  serve  as  a 
starting-point  for  inquiry,  and  not  only  her  innate  reserve  but 
a  more  noble  sensitiveness  made  her  shrink  from  assuming 
an  attitude  of  generosity  in  the  eyes  of  others  by  publishing 
Tessa's  relation  to  Tito,  along  with  her  own  desire  to  find 


366  ROMOLA 

her.  Many  days  passed  in  anxious  inaction.  Even  under 
strong  solicitation  from  other  thoughts  Romola  found  her 
heart  palpitating  if  she  caught  sight  of  a  pair  of  round  brown 
legs,  or  of  a  short  woman  in  the  contadina  dress. 

She  never  for  a  moment  told  herself  that  it  was  heroism 
or  exalted  charity  in  her  to  seek  these  beings :  she  needed 
something  that  she  was  bound  specially  to  care  for;  she 
yearned  to  clasp  the  children  and  to  make  them  love  her. 
This  at  least  would  be  some  sweet  result,  for  others  as  well  as 
herself,  from  all  her  past  sorrow.  It  appeared  there  was 
much  property  of  Tito's  to  which  she  had  a  claim ;  but  she 
distrusted  the  cleanness  of  that  money,  and  she  had  deter- 
mined to  make  it  all  over  to  the  State,  except  so  much  as 
was  equal  to  the  price  of  her  father's  library.  This  would  be 
enough  for  the  modest  support  of  Tessa  and  the  children. 
But  Monna  Brigida  threw  such  planning  into  the  background 
by  clamourously  insisting  that  Romola  must  live  with  her 
and  never  forsake  her  till  she  had  seen  her  safe  in  Paradise 
—  else  why  had  she  persuaded  her  to  turn  Piagnone  ?  —  and 
if  Romola  wanted  to  rear  other  people's  children,  she,  Moima 
Brigida,  must  rear  them  too.  Only  they  must  be  found 
first. 

Romola  felt  the  full  force  of  that  innuendo.  But  strong 
feeling  unsatisfied  is  never  without  its  superstition,  either  of 
hope  or  despair.  Romola's  was  the  superstition  of  hope : 
somehow  she  was  to  find  that  mother  and  the  children.  And 
at  last  another  direction  for  active  inquiry  suggested  itself. 
She  learned  that  Tito  had  provided  horses  and  mules  to 
await  him  in  San  Gallo ;  he  was  therefore  going  to  leave 
Florence  by  the  gate  of  San  Gallo,  and  she  determined, 
though  without  much  confidence  in  the  issue,  to  try  and 
ascertain  from  the  gatekeepers  if  they  had  observed  any  one 
corresponding  to  the  description  of  Tessa,  with  her  children, 


MEETING   AGAIN  367 

to  have  passed  the  gates  before  the  morning  of  the  9th  of 
April.  Walking  along  the  Via  San  Gallo,  and  looking 
watchfuUy  about  her  through  her  long  widow^s  veil,  lest  she 
should  miss  any  object  that  might  aid  her,  she  descried  Bratti 
chaffering  with  a  customer.  That  roaming  man,  she  thought, 
might  aid  her:  she  would  not  mind  talking  of  Tessa  to 
him.  But  as  she  put  aside  her  veil  and  crossed  the  street 
towards  him,  she  saw  something  hanging  from  the  corner  of 
his  basket  which  made  her  heart  leap  with  a  much  stronger 
hope. 

"  Bratti,  my  friend,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  where  did  you 
get  that  necklace  ?  " 

"  Your  servant.  Madonna,"  said  Bratti,  looking  round 
at  her  very  deliberately,  his  mind  not  being  subject  to  sur- 
prise. "  It  ^s  a  necklace  worth  money,  but  I  shall  get  little 
by  it,  for  my  heart 's  too  tender  for  a  trader^s ;  I  have  prom- 
ised to  keep  it  in  pledge." 

"  Pray  tell  me  where  you  got  it ;  —  from  a  little  woman 
named  Tessa,  is  it  not  true  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  if  you  know  her,"  said  Bratti,  "  and  would  redeem 
it  of  me  at  a  small  profit,  and  give  it  her  again,  you  'd  be 
doing  a  charity,  for  she  cried  at  parting  with  it  —  you  'd  have 
thought  she  was  running  into  a  brook.  It 's  a  small  profit 
I  Tl  charge  you.  You  shall  have  it  for  a  florin,  for  I  don't 
like  to  be  hard-hearted." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  said  Romola,  giving  him  the  money, 
and  unclasping  the  necklace  from  the  basket  in  joyful  agi- 
tation. 

"  Outside  the  gate  there,  at  the  other  end  of  the  Borgo, 
at  old  Sibilla  Manetti's :  anybody  will  tell  you  which  is  the 
house." 

Roraola  went  along  with  winged  feet,  blessing  that 
incident  of  the  Carnival  which  had  made  her  learn  by  heart 


368  ROMOLA 

the  appearance  of  this  necklace.  Soon  she  was  at  the  house 
she  sought.  The  young  woman  and  the  children  were  in  the 
inner  room,  —  were  to  have  been  fetched  away  a  fortnight 
ago  and  more,  —  had  no  money,  only  their  clothes,  to  pay  a 
poor  widow  with  for  their  food  and  lodging.  But  since 
Madonna  knew  them  —  Romola  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but 
opened  the  door. 

Tessa  was  seated  on  the  low  bed :  her  crying  had  passed 
into  tearless  sobs,  and  she  was  looking  with  sad  blank  eyes 
at  the  two  children,  who  were  playing  in  an  opposite  corner, 
—  Lillo  covering  his  head  with  his  skirt  and  roaring  at 
Ninna  to  frighten  her,  then  peeping  out  again  to  see  how  she 
bore  it.  The  door  was  a  little  behind  Tessa,  and  she  did  not 
turn  round  when  it  opened,  thinking  it  was  only  tlie  old 
woman :  expectation  was  no  longer  alive.  Romola  had 
thrown  aside  her  veil  and  paused  a  moment,  holding  the 
necklace  in  sight.  Then  she  said,  in  that  pure  voice  that 
used  to  cheer  her  father,  — 

"Tessa!'' 

Tessa  started  to  her  feet  and  looked  round. 

'^See,"  said  Romola,  clasping  the  beads  on  Tessa's 
neck,  "  God  has  sent  me  to  you  again." 

The  poor  thing  screamed  and  sobbed,  and  clung  to  the 
arms  that  fastened  the  necklace.  She  could  not  speak.  The 
two  children  came  from  their  corner,  laid  hold  of  their 
mother's  skirts,  and  looked  up  with  wide  eyes  at  Romola. 

That  day  they  all  went  home  to  Monna  Brigida's  in  the 
Borgo  degli  Albizzi.  .  Romola  had  made  known  to  Tessa,  by 
gentle  degrees,  that  Naldo  could  never  come  to  her  again,  — 
not  because  he  was  cruel,  but  because  he  was  dead. 

"  But  be  comforted,  my  Tessa,"  said  Romola.  "  I  am 
come  to  take  care  of  you  always.  And  we  have  got  Lillo 
and  Ninna." 


Pope  Alexander  VI  (Borgia) 


From  the  fresco  by  Pinliiricchio 


MEETING    AGAIN  369 

Monna  Brigida's  mouth  twitched  in  the  struggle  between 
her  awe  of  Romola  and  the  desire  to  speak  unseasonably. 

"  Let  be,  for  the  present,"  she  thought ;  "  but  it  seems 
to  me  a  thousand  years  till  I  tell  this  little  coutadina,  who 
seems  not  to  know  how  many  fingers  she 's  got  on  her  hand, 
who  Romola  is.  And  I  will  tell  her  some  day,  else  she  '11 
never  know  her  place.  It 's  all  very  well  for  Romola ;  — 
nobody  will  call  their  souls  their  own  when  she's  by;  but  if 
I  'm  to  have  this  puss-faced  minx  living  in  my  house,  she 
must  be  humble  to  me." 

However,  Monna  Brigida  wanted  to  give  the  children 
too  many  sweets  for  their  supper,  and  confessed  to  Romola, 
the  last  thing  before  going  to  bed,  that  it  would  be  a  shame 
not  to  take  care  of  such  cherubs. 

*'  But  you  must  give  up  to  me  a  little,  Romola,  about 
their  eating,  and  those  things.  For  you  have  never  had  a 
baby,  and  I  had  twins,  only  they  died  as  soon  as  they  were 
born." 


24 


CHAPTER  LI 

THE    CONFESSION 

WHEN  Romola  brought  home  Tessa  and  the  chil- 
dren, April  was  already  near  its  close,  and  the 
other  great  anxiety  on  her  mind  had  been  wrought 
to  its  highest  pitch  by  the  publication  in  print  of  Fra  Giro- 
lamo's  Trial,  or  rather  of  the  confessions  drawn  from  him  by 
the  sixteen  Florentine  citizens  commissioned  to  interrogate 
him.  The  appearance  of  this  document,  issued  by  order  of 
the  Signoria,  had  called  forth  such  strong  expressions  of  pub- 
lic suspicion  and  discontent,  that  severe  measures  were  im- 
mediately taken  for  recalling  it.  Of  course  there  were  copies 
accidentally  mislaid ;  and  a  second  edition,  not  by  order  of 
the  Signoria,  was  soon  in  the  hands  of  eager  readers. 

Romola,  who  began  to  despair  of  ever  speaking  with 
Era  Girolamo,  read  this  evidence  again  and  again,  desiring 
to  judge  it  by  some  clearer  liglit  than  the  contradictory  im- 
pressions that  were  taking  the  form  of  assertions  in  the  mouths 
of  both  partisans  and  enemies. 

In  the  more  devout  followers  of  Savonarola  his  want 
of  constancy  under  torture,  and  his  retractation  of  prophetic 
'claims,  had  produced  a  consternation  too  profound  to  be  at 
once  displaced  as  it  ultimately  was  by  the  suspicion,  which 
soon  grew  into  a  positive  datum,  that  any  reported  words  of 
his  which  were  in  inexplicable  contradiction  to  their  faith  in 
him,  had  not  come  from  the  lips  of  the  prophet,  but  from  the 
falsifying  pen  of  Ser  Ceccone,  that  notary  of  evil  repute,  who 
had  made  the   digest  of  the  examination.     But  there  were 


THE   CONFESSION  371 

obvious  facts  that  at  once  threw  discredit  on  the  printed  docu- 
ment. Was  not  the  list  of  sixteen  examiners  half  made  up 
of  the  prophet's  bitterest  enemies  ?  Was  not  the  notorious 
Dolfo  Spini  one  of  the  new  Eight  prematurely  elected,  in 
order  to  load  the  dice  against  a  man  whose  ruin  had  been  de- 
termined on  by  the  party  in  power  ?  It  was  but  a  murder 
with  slow  formalities  that  was  being  transacted  in  the  Old 
Palace.  The  Signoria  had  resolved  to  drive  a  good  bargain 
with  the  Pope  and  the  Duke  of  Milan,  by  extinguishing  the 
man  who  was  as  great  a  molestation  to  vicious  citizens  and 
greedy  foreign  tyrants  as  to  a  corrupt  clergy.  The  Prate  had 
been  doomed  beforehand,  and  the  only  question  that  was  pre- 
tended to  exist  now  was,  whether  the  Republic,  in  return  for 
a  permission  to  lay  a  tax  on  ecclesiastical  property,  should  de- 
liver him  alive  into  the  hands  of  the  Pope,  or  whether  the 
Pope  should  further  concede  to  the  Republic  what  its  dignity 
demanded,  —  the  privilege  of  hanging  and  burning  its  own 
prophet  on  its  own  piazza. 

Who,  under  such  circumstances,  would  give  full  credit 
to  this  so-called  confession  ?  If  the  Prate  had  denied  his 
prophetic  gift,  the  denial  had  only  been  wrenched  from  him 
by  the  agony  of  torture,  —  agony  that,  in  his  sensitive  frame, 
must  quickly  produce  raving.  What  if  these  wicked  exam- 
iners declared  that  he  had  only  had  the  torture  of  the  rope 
and  pulley  thrice,  and  only  on  one  day,  and  that  his  confes- 
sions had  been  made  when  he  was  under  no  bodily  coercion,  — 
was  that  to  be  believed  ?  He  had  been  tortured  much  more ; 
he  had  been  tortured  in  proportion  to  the  distress  his  confes- 
sions had  created  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  loved  him. 

Other  friends  of  Savonarola,  who  were  less  ardent  parti- 
sans, did  not  doubt  the  substantial  genuineness  of  the 
confession,  however  it  might  have  been  coloured  by  the 
transpositions  and  additions  of  the  notary  ;  but  they  argued 


372  UOMOLA 

indignantly  that  there  was  nothing  which  could  warrant  a 
condemnation  to  death,  or  even  to  grave  punishment.  It 
must  be  clear  to  all  impartial  men  that  if  this  examination 
represented  the  only  evidence  against  the  Frate,  he  would 
die,  not  for  any  crime,  but  because  he  had  made  himself  in- 
convenient to  the  Pope,  to  the  rapacious  Italian  States  that 
wanted  to  dismember  their  Tuscan  neighbour,  and  to  those 
unworthy  citizens  who  sought  to  gratify  their  private  ambi- 
tion in  opposition  to  the  common  weal. 

Not  a  shadow  of  political  crime  had  been  proved  against 
him.  Not  one  stain  had  been  detected  on  his  private  con- 
duct :  his  fellow-monks,  including  one  who  had  formerly 
been  his  secretary  for  several  years,  and  who,  with  more  than 
the  average  culture  of  his  companions,  had  a  disposition  to 
criticise  Fra  Girolamo's  rule  as  Prior,  bore  testimony,  even 
after  the  shock  of  his  retractation,  to  an  unimpeachable  purity 
and  consistency  in  his  life,  which  had  commanded  their  un- 
suspecting veneration.  The  Pope  himself  had  not  been  able 
to  raise  a  charge  of  heresy  against  the  Frate,  except  on  the 
ground  of  disobedience  to  a  mandate,  and  disregard  of  the 
sentence  of  excommunication.  It  was  difficult  to  justify  that 
breach  of  discipline  by  argument,  but  there  was  a  moral  in- 
surgence  in  the  minds  of  grave  men  against  the  Court  of 
Rome,  which  tended  to  confound  the  theoretic  distinction 
between  the  Church  and  churchmen,  and  to  lighten  the  scan- 
dal of  disobedience. 

Men  of  ordinary  morality  and  public  spirit  felt  that  the 
triumph  of  the  Frate's  enemies  was  really  the  triumph  of 
gross  license.  And  keen  Florentines  like  Soderini  and  Piero 
Guicciardini  may  well  have  had  an  angry  smile  on  their  lips 
at  a  severity  which  dispensed  with  all  law  in  order  to  hang 
and  burn  a  man  in  whom  the  seductions  of  a  public  career 
had   warped  the  strictness    of  his  veracity ;  may    well  have 


THE   CONFESSION  373 

remarked  that  if  the  Frate  had  mixed  a  much  deeper  fraud 
with  a  zeal  and  ability  less  inconvenient  to  high  personages, 
the  fraud  would  have  been  regarded  as  an  excellent  oil  for 
ecclesiastical  and  political  wheels. 

Nevertheless  such  shrewd  men  were  forced  to  admit 
that,  however  poor  a  figure  the  Florentine  government  made 
in  its  clumsy  pretence  of  a  judicial  warrant  for  what  had  in  fact 
been  predetermined  as  an  act  of  policy,  the  measures  of  the  Pope 
against  Savonarola  were  necessary  measures  of  self-defence. 
Not  to  try  and  rid  himseK  of  a  man  who  wanted  to  stir  up 
the  Powers  of  Europe  to  summon  a  General  Council  and  de- 
pose him,  would  have  been  adding  ineptitude  to  iniquity. 
There  was  no  denying  that  towards  Alexander  the  Sixth 
Savonarola  was  a  rebel,  and,  what  was  much  more,  a  danger- 
ous rebel.  Florence  had  heard  him  say,  and  had  well  under- 
stood what  he  meant,  that  he  would  not  obey  the  devil.  It 
was  inevitably  a  life-and-death  struggle  between  the  Frate 
and  the  Pope ;  but  it  was  less  inevitable  that  Florence  should 
make  itself  the  Pope's  executioner. 

Romola's  ears  were  filled  in  this  way  with  the  sugges- 
tions of  a  faith  still  ardent  under  its  wounds,  and  the  sug- 
gestions of  worldly  discernment,  judging  things  according  to 
a  very  moderate  standard  of  what  is  possible  to  human 
nature.  She  could  be  satisfied  with  neither.  She  brought 
to  her  long  meditations  over  that  printed  document  many 
painful  observations,  registered  more  or  less  consciously 
through  the  years  of  her  disci  pleship,  which  whispered  a 
presentiment  that  Savonarola's  retractation  of  his  prophetic 
claims  was  not  merely  a  spasmodic  efi'ort  to  escape  from 
torture.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  her  soul  cried  out  for  some 
explanation  of  his  lapses  which  would  make  it  still  possible  for 
her  to  believe  that  the  main  striving  of  his  life  had  been  pure 
and  grand.     The   recent   memory    of  the  selfish    discontent 


374  ROMOLA 

which  had  come  over  her  like  a  blighting  wind  along  with 
the  loss  of  her  trust  in  the  man  who  had  been  for  her  an 
incarnation  of  the  highest  motiveSj  had  produced  a  reac- 
tion which  is  known  to  many  as  a  sort  of  faith  that  has 
sprung  up  to  them  out  of  the  very  depths  of  their  despair. 
It  was  impossible,  she  said  now,  that  the  negative  disbeliev- 
ing thoughts  which  had  made  her  soul  arid  of  all  good,  could 
be  founded  in  the  truth  of  things  :  impossible  that  it  had  not 
been  a  living  spirit,  and  no  hollow  pretence,  which  had  once 
breathed  in  the  Frate's  words,  and  kindled  a  new  life 
in  her.  Whatever  falsehood  there  had  been  in  him,  had 
been  a  fall  and  not  a  purpose;  a  gradual  entanglement 
in  which  he  struggled,  not  a  contrivance  encouraged  by 
success. 

Looking  at  the  printed  confessions,  she  saw  many  sen- 
tences which  bore  the  stamp  of  bungling  fabrication :  they 
had  that  emphasis  and  repetition  in  self-accusation  which 
none  but  very  low  hypocrites  use  to  their  fellow-men.  But 
the  fact  that  these  sentences  were  in  striking  opposition,  not 
only  to  the  character  of  Savonarola,  but  also  to  the  general 
tone  of  the  confessions,  strengthened  the  impression  that  the 
rest  of  the  text  represented  in  the  main  what  had  really  fallen 
from  his  lips.  Hardly  a  word  was  dishonourable  to  him 
except  what  turned  on  his  prophetic  annunciations.  He  was 
unvarying  in  his  statement  of  the  ends  he  had  pursued  for 
Florence,  the  Church,  and  the  world;  and,  apart  from  the 
mixture  of  falsity  in  that  claim  to  special  inspiration  by 
which  he  sought  to  gain  hold  of  men's  minds,  there  was  no 
admission  of  having  used  unworthy  means.  Even  in  this 
confession,  and  without  expurgation  of  the  notary's  malign 
phrases,  Fra  Girolamo  shone  forth  as  a  man  who  had  sought 
his  own  glory  indeed,  but  sought  it  by  labouring  for  the  very 
highest  end,  —  the  moral  welfare  of   men,  —  not  by  vague 


THE   CONFESSION  375 

exhortations,  but  by  striving  to  turn  beliefs  into  energies  that 
would  work  in  all  the  details  of  life. 

"Everything  that  I  have  done/'  said  one  memorable 
passage,  which  may  perhaps  have  had  its  erasures  and  inter- 
polations, "  I  have  done  with  the  design  of  being  forever 
famous  in  the  present  and  in  future  ages,  and  that  I  might 
win  credit  in  Florence,  and  that  nothing  of  great  import 
should  be  done  without  my  sanction.  And  when  I  had  thus 
established  my  position  in  Florence,  I  had  it  in  my  mind  to 
do  great  things  in  Italy  and  beyond  Italy,  by  means  of  those 
chief  personages  with  whom  I  had  contracted  friendship  and 
consulted  on  high  matters,  such  as  this  of  the  General  Coun- 
cil. And  in  proportion  as  my  first  efforts  succeeded,  I 
should  have  adopted  further  measures.  Above  all,  when  the 
General  Council  had  once  been  brought  about,  I  intended  to 
rouse  the  princes  of  Christendom,  and  especially  those  be- 
yond the  borders  of  Italy,  to  subdue  the  infidels.  It  was  not 
much  in  my  thoughts  to  get  myself  made  a  Cardinal  or  Pope, 
for  when  I  should  have  achieved  the  work  I  had  in  view,  I 
should,  without  being  Pope,  have  been  the  first  man  in  the 
world  in  the  authority  I  should  have  possessed,  and  the  rev- 
erence that  would  have  been  paid  me.  If  I  had  been  made 
Pope,  I  would  not  have  refused  the  office :  but  it  seemed  to  me 
that  to  be  the  head  of  that  work  was  a  greater  thing  than  to  be 
Pope,  because  a  man  without  virtue  may  be  Pope ;  but  such  a 
work  as  I  contemplated  demanded  a  man  of  excellent  virtues." 

That  blending  of  ambition  with  belief  in  the  supremacy 
of  goodness  made  no  new  tone  to  Romola,  who  had  been 
used  to  hear  it  in  the  voice  that  rang  through  the  Duomo. 
It  was  the  habit  of  Savonarola's  mind  to  conceive  great 
things,  and  to  feel  that  he  was  the  man  to  do  them.  Iniq- 
uity should  be  brought  low ;  the  cause  of  justice,  purity,  and 
love  should  triumph ;  and  it  should  triumph  by  his  voice,  by 


376  ROMOLA 

his  work,  by  his  blood.  In  moments  of  ecstatic  contempla- 
tion, doubtless,  the  sense  of  self  melted  in  the  sense  of  the 
Unspeakable,  and  in  that  part  of  his  experience  lay  the  ele- 
ments of  genuine  self-abasement ;  but  in  the  presence  of  his 
fellow-men  for  whom  he  was  to  act,  pre-eminence  seemed  a 
necessary  condition  of  his  life. 

And  perhaps  this  confession,  even  when  it  described  a 
doubleness  that  was  conscious  and  deliberate,  really  implied 
no  more  than  that  wavering  of  belief  concerning  his  own 
impressions  and  motives  which  most  human  beings  who  have 
not  a  stupid  inflexibility  of  self-confidence  must  be  liable  to 
under  a  marked  change  of  external  conditions.  In  a  life 
where  the  experience  was  so  tumultuously  mixed  as  it  must 
have  been  in  the  Frate's,  what  a  possibility  was  opened  for  a 
change  of  self-judgment,  when,  instead  of  eyes  that  venerated 
and  knees  that  knelt,  instead  of  a  great  work  on  its  way  to 
accomplishment,  and  in  its  prosperity  stamping  the  agent  as  a 
chosen  instrument,  there  came  the  hooting  and  the  spitting 
and  the  curses  of  the  crowd  ;  and  then  the  hard  faces  of 
enemies  made  judges ;  and  then  the  horrible  torture,  and 
with  the  torture  the  irrepressible  cry,  "  It  is  true,  what  you 
would  have  me  say :  let  me  go  :  do  not  torture  me  again  : 
yes,  yes,  I  am  guilty.  O  God !  '  Thy  Stroke  has  reached 
me!" 

As  Roraola  thought  of  the  anguish  that  must  have 
followed  the  confession,  —  whether,  in  the  subsequent  soli- 
tude of  the  prison,  conscience  retracted  or  confirmed  the  self- 
taxing  words,  —  that  anguish  seemed  to  be  pressing  on  her 
own  heart  and  urging  the  slow  bitter  tears.  Every  vulgar 
self-ignorant  person  in  Florence  was  glibly  pronouncing  on 
this  man's  demerits,  while  lie  was  knowing  a  depth  of  sorrow 
which  can  only  be  known  to  the  soul  that  has  loved  and 
sought  the  most  perfect  thing,  and  beholds  itself  fallen. 


THE   CONFESSION  377 

She  had  not  then  seen  —  what  she  saw  afterwards  —  the 
evidence  of  the  Frate^s  mental  state  after  he  had  had  thus  to 
lay  his  mouth  in  the  dust.  As  the  days  went  by,  the  reports 
of  new  unpublished  examinations,  eliciting  no  change  of  con- 
fessions, ceased ;  Savonarola  was  left  alone  in  his  prison,  and 
allowed  pen  and  ink  for  a  while,  that,  if  he  liked,  he  might 
use  his  poor  bruised  and  strained  right  arm  to  write  with. 
He  wrote;  but  what  he  wrote  was  no  vindication  of  his  inno- 
cence, no  protest  against  the  proceedings  used  towards  him : 
it  was  a  continued  colloquy  with  that  divine  purity  with 
which  he  sought  complete  reunion ;  it  was  the  outpouring  of 
self-abasement ;  it  was  one  long  cry  for  inward  renovation. 
No  lingering  echoes  of  the  old  vehement  self-assertion, 
"  Look  at  my  work,  for  it  is  good,  and  those  who  set  their 
faces  against  it  are  the  children  of  the  devil  ! "  The  voice 
of  Sadness  tells  him  :  "  God  placed  thee  in  the  midst  of  the 
people  even  as  if  thou  hadst  been  one  of  the  excellent.  In 
this  way  thou  hast  taught  others,  and  hast  failed  to  learn 
thyself.  Thou  hast  cured  others  ;  and  thou  thyself  hast  been 
still  diseased.  Thy  heart  was  lifted  up  at  the  beauty  of  thy 
own  deeds,  and  through  this  thou  hast  lost  thy  wisdom,  and 
art  become,  and  shalt  be  to  all  eternity,  nothing.  .  . 
After  so  many  benefits  with  which  God  has  honoured  thee, 
thou  art  fallen  into  the  depths  of  the  sea ;  and  after  so  many 
gifts  bestowed  on  thee,  thou,  by  thy  pride  and  vainglory,  hast 
scandalized  all  the  world.^^  And  when  Hope  speaks  and 
argues  that  the  divine  love  has  not  forsaken  him,  it  says 
nothing  now  of  a  great  work  to  be  done,  but  only  says, 
"Thou  art  not  forsaken,  else  why  is  thy  heart  bowed  in 
penitence  ?     That  too  is  a  gift.'' 

There  is  no  jot  of  worthy  evidence  that  from  the  time 
of  his  imprisonment  to  the  supreme  moment,  Savonarola 
thought   or  spoke    of  himself   as   a  martyr.     The    idea  of 


378  ROMOLA 

martyrdom  had  been  to  him  a  passion  dividing  the  dream  of 
the  future  with  the  triumph  of  beholding  his  work  achieved. 
And  now,  in  place  of  both,  had  come  a  resignation  which  he 
called  by  no  glorifying  name. 

But  therefore  he  may  the  more  fitly  he  called  a  martyr 
by  his  fellow-men  to  all  time.  For  power  rose  against  him 
not  because  of  his  sins,  but  because  of  his  greatness,  —  not 
because  he  sought  to  deceive  the  world,  but  because  he 
sought  to  make  it  noble.  And  through  that  greatness  of  his 
he  endured  a  double  agony,  —  not  only  the  reviling  and  the 
torture  and  the  death-throe,  but  the  agony  of  sinking  from 
the  vision  of  glorious  achievement  into  that  deep  shadow 
where  he  could  only  say,  "  I  count  as  nothing ;  darkness  en- 
compasses me :  yet  the  light  I  saw  was  the  true  light.^^ 


CHAPTER  LII 

THE    LAST    SILENCE 

ROMOLA  had  seemed  to  hear,  as  if  they  had  been  a 
cry,  the  words  repeated  to  her  by  many  lips,  —  the 
words  uttered  by  Savonarola  when  he  took  leave  of 
those  brethren  of  San  Marco  who  had  come  to  witness  his 
signature  of  the  confession  :  "  Pray  for  me,  for  God  has  with- 
drawn from  me  the  spirit  of  prophecy." 

Those  words  had  shaken  her  with  new  doubts  as  to  the 
mode  in  which  he  looked  back  at  the  past  in  moments  of 
complete  self-possession  j  and  the  doubts  were  strengthened 
by  more  piteous  things  still,  which  soon  reached  her  ears. 

The  19th  of  May  had  come,  and  by  that  day^s  sunshhie 
there  had  entered  into  Florence  the  two  Papal  Commissaries, 
charged  with  the  completion  of  Savonarola's  trial.  They 
entered  amid  the  acclamations  of  the  people,  calling  for  the 
death  of  the  Prate.  Por  now  the  popular  cry  was,  ''  It  is 
the  Prate's  deception  that  has  brought  on  all  our  misfortunes ; 
let  him  be  burned,  and  all  things  right  will  be  done,  and  our 
evils  will  cease." 

The  next  day  it  is  well  certified  that  there  was  fresh  and 
fresh  torture  of  the  shattered  sensitive  frame  ;  and  now,  at  the 
first  sight  of  the  horrible  implements,  Savonarola,  in  con- 
vulsed agitation,  fell  on  his  knees,  and  in  brief  passionate 
words  retracted  his  confession,  declared  that  he  had  spoken 
falsely  in  denying  his  prophetic  gift,  and  that  if  he  suffered, 
he  would  suffer  for  the  truth,  —  "  The  things  that  I  have 
spoken,  I  had  them  from  God." 


380  ROMOLA 

But  not  the  less  the  torture  was  laid  upon  him  ;  and 
when  he  was  under  it  he  was  asked  why  he  had  uttered  those 
retracting  words.  Men  were  not  demons  in  those  days,  and 
yet  nothing  but  confessions  of  guilt  were  held  a  reason  for  re- 
lease from  torture.  The  answer  came :  "  I  said  it  that  I 
might  seem  good :  tear  me  no  more,  I  will  tell  you  the 
truth." 

There  were  Florentine  assessors  at  this  new  trial,  and 
those  words  of  twofold  retractation  had  soon  spread.  They 
filled  Romola  with  dismayed  uncertainty. 

"  But "  —  it  flashed  across  her  —  "  there  will  come  a 
moment  when  he  may  speak.  When  there  is  no  dread  hang- 
ing over  him  but  the  dread  of  falsehood,  when  they  have 
brought  him  into  the  presence  of  death,  when  he  is  lifted 
above  the  people,  and  looks  on  them  for  the  last  time,  they 
cannot  hinder  him  from  speaking  a  last  decisive  word.  I 
will  be  there." 

Three  days  after,  on  the  23d  of  May,  1498,  there  was 
again  a  long  narrow  platform  stretching  across  the  great 
piazza,  from  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  towards  the  Tetta  de^ 
Pisani.  But  there  was  no  grove  of  fuel  as  before  :  instead  of 
that,  there  was  one  great  heap  of  fuel  placed  on  the  circular 
area  which  made  the  termination  of  the  long  narrow  platform. 
And  above  this  heap  of  fuel  rose  a  gibbet  with  three  halters 
on  it ;  a  gibbet  which,  having  two  arms,  still  looked  so  much 
like  a  cross  as  to  make  some  beholders  uncomfortable,  though 
one  arm  had  been  truncated  to  avoid  the  resemblance. 

On  the  marble  terrace  of  the  Palazzo  were  three  tribu- 
nals, —  one  near  the  door  for  the  Bishop,  who  was  to  per- 
form the  ceremony  of  degradation  on  Fra  Girolamo  and  the 
two  brethren  who  were  to  suffer  as  his  followers  and  accom- 
plices ;  another  for  the  Papal  Commissaries,  who  were  to  pro- 
nounce them  heretics  and  schismatics,  and  deliver  them  over 


THE   LAST   SILENCE  381 

to  the  secular  arm  ;  and  a  third,  close  to  Marzacco,  at  the 
corner  of  the  terrace  where  the  j)latform  began,  for  the  Gon- 
faloniere,  and  the  Eight  who  were  to  pronounce  the  sentence 
of  death. 

Again  the  piazza  was  thronged  with  expectant  faces ; 
again  there  was  to  be  a  great  fire  kindled.  In  the  major- 
ity of  the  crowd  that  pressed  around  the  gibbet  the  expec- 
tation was  that  of  ferocious  hatred,  or  of  mere  hard  curiosity 
to  behold  a  barbarous  sight.  But  there  were  still  many  spec- 
tators on  the  wide  pavement,  on  the  roofs,  and  at  the  win- 
dows, who,  in  the  midst  of  their  bitter  grief  and  their  own 
endurance  of  insult  as  hypocritical  Piagnoni,  were  not  with- 
out a  lingering  hope,  even  at  this  eleventh  hour,  that  God 
would  interpose,  by  some  sign,  to  manifest  their  beloved  pro- 
phet as  His  servant.  And  there  were  yet  more  who  looked 
forward  with  trembling  eagerness,  as  Eomola  did,  to  that 
final  moment  when  Savonarola  might  say,  "  O  people,  I  was 
innocent  of  deceit.'* 

Romola  was  at  a  window  on  the  north  side  of  the  piazza, 
far  away  from  the  marble  terrace  where  the  tribunals  stood  ; 
and  near  her,  also  looking  on  in  painful  doubt  concerning  the 
man  who  had  won  his  early  reverence,  was  a  young  Floren- 
tine of  two-and-twenty,  named  Jacopo  Nardi,  afterwards  to 
deserve  honour  as  one  of  the  very  few  who,  feeling  Fra  Giro- 
lamo's  eminence,  have  written  about  him  with  the  simple  de- 
sire to  be  veracious.  He  had  said  to  Romola,  with  respectful 
gentleness,  when  he  saw  the  struggle  in  her  between  her 
shuddering  horror  of  the  scene  and  her  yearning  to  wit- 
ness what  might  happen  in  the  last  moment,  — 

"  Madonna,  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  look  at  these 
cruel  things.  I  will  tell  you  when  he  comes  out  of  the  Pa- 
lazzo.    Trust  to  me  ;   I  know  what  you  would  see.*' 

Romola  covered  her  face,  but  the  hootings  that  seemed 


382  ROMOLA 

to  make  the  hideous  scene  still  visible  could  not  be  shut  out. 
At  last  her  arm  was  touched,  and  she  heard  the  words,  "  He 
comes/'  She  looked  towards  the  Palace,  and  could  see  Savo- 
narola led  out  in  his  Dominican  garb ;  could  see  him  stand- 
ing before  the  Bishop,  and  being  stripped  of  the  black  mantle, 
the  white  scapulary,  and  long  white  tunic,  till  he  stood  in  a 
close  woollen  under-tunic,  that  told  of  no  sacred  office,  no 
rank.  He  had  been  degraded,  and  cut  off  from  the  Church 
Militant. 

The  baser  part  of  the  multitude  delight  in  degradations, 
apart  from  any  hatred ;  it  is  the  satire  they  best  understand. 
There  was  a  fresh  hoot  of  triumph  as  the  three  degraded 
brethren  passed  on  to  the  tribunal  of  the  Papal  Commissa- 
ries, who  were  to  pronounce  them  schismatics  and  heretics. 
Did  not  the  prophet  look  like  a  schismatic  and  heretic  now  ? 
It  is  easy  to  believe  in  the  damnable  state  of  a  man  who 
stands  stripped  and  degraded. 

Then  the  third  tribunal  was  passed  —  that  of  the  Flor- 
entine officials  who  were  to  pronounce  sentence,  and  among 
whom,  even  at  her  distance,  Romola  could  discern  the  odi- 
ous figure  of  Dolfo  Spini,  indued  in  the  grave  Hack  lucco,  as 
one  of  the  Eight. 

Then  the  three  figures,  in  their  close  white  raiment,  trod 
their  way  along  the  platform,  amidst  yells  and  grating  tones 
of  insult. 

"Cover  your  eyes.  Madonna,"  said  Jacopo  Nardi; 
"Fra  Girolamo  will  be  the  last.'' 

It  was  not  long  before  she  had  to  uncover  them  again. 
Savonarola  was  there.  He  was  not  far  off  her  now.  He 
had  mounted  the  steps ;  she  could  see  him  look  round  on  the 
multitude. 

But  in  the  same  moment  expectation  died,  and  she  only 
saw  what  he  was  seeing,  —  torches  waving  to  kindle  the  fuel 


I 

I 


THE   LAST   SILENCE  383 

beneath  his  dead  body,  faces  glaring  with  a  yet  worse  light ; 
she  only  heard  what  he  was  hearing, — gross  jests,  taunts, 
and  curses. 

The  moment  was  past.  Her  face  was  covered  again, 
and  she  only  knew  that  Savonarola^s  voice  had  passed  into 
eternal  silence. 


EPILOGUE 

ON  the  evening  of  the  22d  of  May,  1509,  five  persons, 
of  whose  liistory  we  have  known  something,  were 
seated  in  a  handsome  upper  room  opening  on  to  a 
loggia  which,  at  its  right-hand  corner,  looked  all  along  the 
Borgo  Pinti,  and  over  the  city  gate  towards  Fiesole,  and  the 
solemn  heights  beyond  it. 

At  one  end  of  the  room  was  an  archway  opening  into  a 
narrow  inner  room,  hardly  more  than  a  recess,  where  the  light 
fell  from  above  on  a  small  altar  covered  with  fair  white 
linen.  Over  the  altar  was  a  picture,  discernible  at  the  dis- 
tance where  the  little  party  sat  only  as  the  small  full-length 
portrait  of  a  Dominican  Brother.  For  it  was  shaded  from 
the  light  above  by  overhanging  branches  and  wreaths  of 
flowers,  and  the  fresh  tapers  below  it  were  unlit.  But  it 
seemed  that  the  decoration  of  the  altar  and  its  recess  was  not 
complete.  For  part  of  the  floor  was  strewn  with  a  confusion 
of  flowers  and  green  boughs,  and  among  them  sat  a  delicate 
blue-eyed  girl  of  tliirteen,  tossing  her  long  light-brown  hair 
out  of  her  eyes,  as  she  made  selections  for  the  wreaths  she 
was  weaving,  or  looked  up  at  her  mother's  work  in  the 
same  kind,  and  told  her  how  to  do  it  with  a  little  air  of 
instruction. 

For  that  mother  was  not  very  clever  at  weaving  flowers 
or  at  any  other  work.  Tessa's  fingers  had  not  become  more 
adroit  with  the  years,  —  only  very  much  fatter.  She  got  on 
slowly  and  turned  her  head  about  a  good  deal, , and  asked 


A  PdUTRAiT  of  Savonarola 


ace  JUhlii)  .  "Iftcci 


From  n  contempnrnry  mininlrire  in  n 
MS.  of  the  Rinnccini  rollfction,  now  in 
the  Magllabechinn  Library 


EPILOGUE  385 

Ninna's  opinion  with  much  deference ;  for  Tessa  never  ceased 
to  be  astonished  at  the  wisdom  of  her  children.  She  still 
wore  her  contadina  gown  :  it  was  only  broader  than  the  old 
one;  and  there  was  the  silver  phi  in  her  rough  curly  brown 
hair,  and  round  her  neck  the  memorable  necklace^  with  a  red 
cord  under  it,  that  ended  mysteriously  in  her  bosom.  Her 
rounded  face  wore  even  a  more  perfect  look  of  childish  con- 
tent than  in  her  yomiger  days  :  everybody  was  so  good  in  the 
world,  Tessa  thought ;  even  Monna  Brigida  never  found  fault 
with  her  now,  and  did  little  else  than  sleep,  which  was  an 
amiable  practice  in  everybody,  and  one  that  Tessa  liked  for 
herself. 

Monna  Brigida  was  asleep  at  this  moment,  in  a  straight- 
backed  arm-chair,  a  couple  of  yards  off.  Her  hair,  parting 
backward  under  her  black  hood,  had  that  soft  whiteness 
which  is  not  like  snow  or  auythmg  else,  but  is  simply  the 
lovely  whiteness  of  aged  hair.  Her  cliin  had  sunk  on  her 
bosom,  and  her  hands  rested  on  the  elbow  of  her  chair.  She 
had  not  been  weaving  flowers  or  doing  anything  else ;  she 
had  only  been  looking  on  as  usual,  and  as  usual  had  fallen 
asleep. 

The  other  two  figures  were  seated  farther  ofi",  at  the 
wide  doorway  that  opened  on  to  the  loggia.  Lillo  sat  on  the 
ground  with  his  back  against  the  angle  of  the  door-post,  and 
his  long  legs  stretched  out,  while  he  held  a  large  book  open 
on  his  knee,  and  occasionally  made  a  dash  with  his  hand  at 
an  inquisitive  fly,  with  an  air  of  interest  stronger  than  that 
excited  by  the  finely  printed  copy  of  Petrarch  which  he  kept 
open  at  one  place,  as  if  he  were  learning  something  by 
heart. 

Eomola  sat  nearly  opposite  Lillo,  but  she  was  not  ob- 
serving him.  Her  hands  were  crossed  on  her  lap,  and  her 
eyes  were  fixed  absently  on  the  distant  mountains :  she  was 
VOL  II.  —  25 


386  ROMOLA 

evidently  unconscious  of  anything  around  her.  An  eager 
life  had  left  its  marks  upon  her :  the  finely  moulded  cheek 
had  sunk  a  little,  the  golden  crown  was  less  massive;  but 
there  was  a  placidity  in  Romola^s  face  which  had  never  be- 
longed to  it  in  youth.  It  is  but  once  that  we  can  know  our 
worst  sorrows,  and  Eomola  had  known  them  while  life  was 
new. 

Absorbed  in  this  way,  she  was  not  at  first  aware  that 
Lillo  had  ceased  to  look  at  his  book,  and  was  watching  her 
with  a  slightly  impatient  air,  which  meant  that  he  wanted  to 
talk  to  her,  but  was  not  quite  sure  whether  she  would  like 
that  entertainment  just  now.  But  persevering  looks  make 
themselves  felt  at  last.  Eomola  did  presently  turn  away  her 
eyes  from  the  distance,  and  met  Lillo^s  impatient  dark  gaze 
with  a  brighter  and  brighter  smile.  He  shuffled  along  the 
floor,  still  keeping  the  book  on  his  lap,  till  he  got  close  to 
her  and  lodged  his  chin  on  her  knee. 

"  What  is  it,  Lillo  ?  "  said  Eomola,  pulling  his  hair 
back  from  his  brow.  Lillo  was  a  handsome  lad,  but  his 
features  were  turning  out  to  be  more  massive  and  less  regular 
than  his  father's.  The  blood  of  the  Tuscan  peasant  was  in 
his  veins. 

"  Mamma  Eomola,  what  am  I  to  be  ? "  he  said,  well 
contented  that  there  was  a  prospect  of  talking  till  it  would 
be  too  late  to  con  "  Spirto  gentil "  any  longer. 

"  What  should  you  like  to  be,  Lillo  ?  You  might 
be  a  scholar.  My  father  was  a  scholar,  you  know,  and 
taught  me  a  great  deal.     That  is  the  reason  why  I  can  teach 

you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lillo,  rather  hesitatingly.  ''  But  he  is 
old  and  blind  in  the  picture.  Did  he  get  a  great  deal  of 
glory?" 

"  Not  much,  Lillo.     The  world   was  not  always  very 


EPILOGUE  387 

kind  to  him,  and  he  saw  meaner  men  than  himself  put  into 
higher  places,  because  they  could  flatter  and  say  what  was 
false.  And  then  his  dear  son  thought  it  right  to  leave  him 
and  become  a  monk ;  and  after  that,  my  father,  being 
blind  and  lonely,  felt  unable  to  do  the  things  that  would 
have  made  his  learning  of  greater  use  to  men,  so  that  he 
might  still  have  lived  in  his  works  after  he  was  in  his 
grave." 

"  I  should  not  like  that  sort  of  life,"  said  Lillo.  "  I 
should  like  to  be  something  that  would  make  me  a  great  man, 
and  very  happy  besides,  —  something  that  would  not  hinder 
me  from  having  a  good  deal  of  pleasure." 

"  That  is  not  easy,  my  Lillo.  It  is  only  a  poor  sort  of 
happiness  that  could  ever  come  by  caring  very  much  about 
our  own  narrow  pleasures.  We  can  only  have  the  highest 
happiness,  such  as  goes  along  with  being  a  great  man,  by 
having  wide  thoughts,  and  much  feeling  for  the  rest  of  the 
world  as  well  as  ourselves ;  and  this  sort  of  happiness  often 
brings  so  much  pain  with  it  that  we  can  only  tell  it  from  pain 
by  its  being  what  we  would  choose  before  everything  else,  be- 
cause our  souls  see  it  is  good.  There  are  so  many  things  wrong 
and  difficult  in  the  world,  that  no  man  can  be  great  —  he  can 
hardly  keep  himself  from  wickedness  —  unless  he  gives  up 
thinking  much  about  pleasure  or  rewards,  and  gets  strength  to 
endure  what  is  hard  and  painful.  My  father  had  the  greatness 
that  belongs  to  integrity  ;  he  chose  poverty  and  obscurity  rather 
than  falsehood.  And  there  was  Era  Girolamo,  —  you  know 
why  I  keep  to-morrow  sacred  :  he  had  the  greatness  which 
belongs  to  a  life  spent  in  struggling  against  powerful  wrong, 
and  in  trying  to  raise  men  to  the  highest  deeds  they  are 
capable  of.  And  so,  my  Lillo,  if  you  mean  to  act  nobly  and 
seek  to  know  the  best  things  God  has  put  within  reach  of 
men,  you  must  learn  to  fix  your  mind  on  that  end,  and  not 


388  ROMOLA 

on  what  will  happen  to  you  because  of  it.  And  remember, 
if  you  were  to  choose  something  lower,  and  make  it  the  rule 
of  your  life  to  seek  your  own  pleasure  and  escape  from 
what  is  disagreeable,  calamity  might  come  just  the  same ; 
and  it  would  be  calamity  falling  on  a  base  mind,  which  is 
the  one  form  of  sorrow  that  has  no  balm  in  it,  and  that 
may  well  make  a  man  say,  '  It  would  have  been  better  for 
me  if  I  had  never  been  born/  I  will  tell  you  something, 
Lillo." 

Romola  paused  for  a  moment.  She  had  taken  Lillo's 
cheeks  between  her  hands,  and  his  yomig  eyes  were  meeting 
hers. 

"  There  was  a  man  to  whom  I  was  very  near,  so  that  I 
could  see  a  great  deal  of  his  life,  who  made  almost  every  one 
fond  of  him,  for  he  was  young  and  clever  and  beautiful,  and 
his  manners  to  all  were  gentle  and  kind,  I  believe,  when  I 
first  knew  him,  he  never  thought  of  anything  cruel  or  base. 
But  because  he  tried  to  slip  away  from  everything  that  was 
unpleasant,  and  cared  for  nothing  else  so  much  as  his  own 
safety,  he  came  at  last  to  commit  some  of  the  basest  deeds,  — 
such  as  make  men  infamous.  He  denied  his  father,  and  left 
him  to  misery ;  he  betrayed  every  trust  that  was  reposed  in 
him,  that  he  might  keep  himself  safe  and  get  rich  and  pros- 
perous.    Yet  calamity  overtook  him." 

Again  Romola  paused.  Her  voice  was  unsteady,  and 
Lillo  was  looking  up  at  her  with  awed  wonder. 

"  Another  time,  my  Lillo,  —  I  will  tell  you  another 
time.  See,  there  are  our  old  Piero  di  Cosimo  and  Nello 
coming  up  the  Borgo  Pinti,  bringing  us  their  flowers.  Let 
us  go  and  wave  our  hands  to  them,  that  they  may  know  we 
see  them.^'  » 

"  How  queer  old  Piero  is  ! "  said  Lillo,  as  they  stood  at 
the   corner  of  the  loggia,   watching  the  advancing  figures. 


EPILOGUE  i>89 

"  He  abuses  you  for  dressing  the  altar  and  thinking  so  much 
of  Era  Girolamo,  and  yet  he  brings  you  the  flowers." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Roraola.  "  There  are  many  good 
people  who  did  not  love  Fra  Girolamo.  Perhaps  I  should 
never  have  learned  to  love  him  if  he  had  not  helped  me  when 
I  was  in  great  need." 


THE   END 


BOOKS    ON     ITALIAN    SUBJECTS 

HISTORY    OF    VENICE 

By   POMPEO    MOLMENTI 

Translated  from  the  Italian  by  HORATIO  F.   BROWN,  British 
Archivist  in   Venice  and  author  of  '^  In  and  Around  Venice,"  etc. 

THIS  imposing  work  will  be  in  every  respect  a 
monumental  piece  of  bookmaking.  The  "  His- 
tory" is  now  appearing  in  Italy,  under  the 
imprint  of  the  Instituto  Italiano  irArti  Grcifiche.  The 
author  is  a  gentleman  of  high  social  standing,  and  the 
leading  historical  writer  in  Italy  at  the  present  time. 
The  translator  is  himself  an  authority  on  Venice,  and  his 
books  on  that  city,  and  the  distinguished  position  he 
has  held  there  for  nearly  twenty  years  as  Britisli 
Archivist,  have  won  for  him  the  reputation  of  knowing 
more  about  Venice  than  any  other  living  Englishman. 
The  volumes  will  be  distinguished  typogi'aphically  by 
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Bodoni,  which  was  so  famous  a  century  ago,  and  has 
recently  been  revived  by  The  University  Press. 

Part  I.     Venice  in  the  Middle  Ages,  two  volumes, 
ready  in  the  Fall  of  1906. 

Part  II.     Venice  in  the  Golden  Age,  two  volumes, 

ready  in  the  Spring  of  1907. 
Part  III.    The  Decadence  of  Venice,  two  volumes, 

ready  in  the  Fall  of  1907. 

Six  volumes,    8vo,    with  many   illustrations,   each   volume    with 
frontispiece  in  color  and  gold. 

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BOOKS     ON     ITALIAN     SUBJECTS 
By  Anna  Benneson  McMahan 

WITH  BYRON  IN  ITALY 

Being  a  Selection  of  the  Poems   and  Letters  of  Lord 

BYRON  which  have  to  do  tvith  his  Life  in  Italy 

from  1816  to  1823. 

Edited  with  Introductions  by  Anna  Benneson  McMahan. 

MRS.  McMahan's  two  previous  books  on  Shelley  and 
the  Brownings  in  Italy  have  been  so  successful  that 
this  volume  is  a  natural  sequence,  and  will  be  received  with 
equal  appreciation.  The  influence  of  Italy  on  Byron's  work 
has  never  been  made  as  clear  before. 


WITH  SHELLEY  IN  ITALY 

Being  a  Selection  of  the  Poems  and  Letters  of  PERCY 

BYSSHE  SHELLEY  which  have  to  do  with  his 

Life  in  Italy  from  1818  to  1822. 

Edited  with  Introductions  by  Anna  Benneson   McMahan. 

IT  is  conceded  that  Shelley  found  his  most  inspired  ex- 
pression during  the  four  years  that  he  spent  in  Italy, 
where  his  genius  developed  towards  maturity.  Hitherto 
no  attempt  has  been  made  to  set  the  poems  in  their  original 
environment,  or  to  conduct  the  reader  himself  into  that 
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this  as  far  as  may  be  possible,  through  illustration  and  the 
grouping  of  letters  and  passages  from  note  books  with 
poems,  so  that  the  poems  may  be  seen  in  the  making,  is 
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Uniform  in  style  and  binding.     Each,  with  over  60  illus- 
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BOOKS    ON     ITALIAN    SUBJECTS 

FLORENCE  IN  THE 
POETRY  OF  THE  BROWNINGS 

A  Selection  of  the  Poems  of  ROBERT  and  ELIZABETH 

BARRETT  BROWNING,  which  have  to  do  with  the 

History,  the  Scenery,  and  the  Art  of  Florence 

Edited,  with  Introductions 

By  Anna  Benneson  McMahan 

THE  author,  whose  entire  familiarity  with  the  Browning  poetry 
and  with  Florence  itself  is  well  known,  has  compiled  the  vol- 
ume with  the  utmost  sympathy  and  appreciation.  To  both  poets 
the  history,  the  scenery,  and  the  art  of  Florence  were  a  continual 
inspiration  —  "The  most  beautiful  of  the  cities  devised  by  man," 
as  Mrs.  Browning  said.  The  poems  comprise  "  Casa  Guidi  Win- 
dows," "The  Dance,"  "Old  Pictures  in  Florence,"  "  Fra  Lippo 
Lippi,"  "Andrea  del  Sarto,"  "The  Statue  and  the  Bust,"  "The 
Ring  and  the  Book"  (Book  I.),  and  "  One  Word  More."  In  itself 
this  would  seem  to  be  enough,  but  the  interest  furnished  by  the 
remarkable  collection  of  illustrations  is  equally  great.  It  is  doubtful 
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THE  GUILDS  OF  FLORENCE 

Historical,  Industrial,  and  Political 
By  Edgcumbe  Staley 

THE  cumulative  energy  of  the  Florentines  had  its  nucleus  in  the 
corporate  life  of  the  trade  associations ;  and  in  no  other  com- 
munity was  the  guild  system  so  thoroughly  developed  as  it  was  in 
Florence.  A  complete  and  connected  history  of  the  guilds  has  never 
been  compiled,  and  the  intention  of  the  present  work  is  to  supply 
the  omissions.  The  author  has  exhausted  the  various  sources  of 
information,  and  it  is  believed  that  he  has  left  nothing  unsaid.  The 
illustrative  feature  is  worthy  of  comment,  as  the  efforts  made  to  have 
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